


Carve

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Not Before Rey Does What Rey Does Best (Put Him In His Place), But Not Before Ben Does What Ben Does Best (Be A Dumbass), Eventual Smut, F/M, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, It's Best To Not Have 2 Left Feet, Jealousy, Light Angst, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Omega Rey (Star Wars), Or Put Your Foot In Your Mouth, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Scenting, Snowboarding AU, Surprisingly Soft But Grumpy Ben Solo, Tags Will Expand As Story Progresses, The Hoth: Mountain Resort, The Taming of Fuckboy Ben TM, They'll figure it out, When Courting Your Omega
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29469318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Rey Johnson is an Omega looking for a fresh start. Working at the Hoth Mountain Resort, she meets former Snowboarding champion and instructor Ben Solo. The Alpha's scent custom made to torment her soul and wreck her biology. Yet despite their obvious chemistry, he doesn't seem interested in her.Or is he?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 95
Kudos: 444
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Carve _(v.)_**  
>  _/kärv/_   
> The act of turning strictly on the edge of a snowboard where the nose and tail follow the same path. When properly executed, the only evidence left is a thin line in the snow.

The first time she sees him outside of a work environment is purely by accident.

She’s seen him around the resort plenty. Always with a friendly smile bringing his students to the rental shop. Offering dimpled grins as he tightens their bindings and tests newbies dominant feet. Congratulating them with a hearty chuckle when they discover they’re goofy. 

Sometimes, he’d squint when he’d guide some of the designated women, but Rey’d never thought much of it. Alphas did that. So did Omegas. Squinting was a natural way to block the airway. A helpful social tool to avoid smelling unpleasant scents while remaining congenial outwardly. An alternative to sneering your disapproval. 

Suppressants or not, there’s _always_ a linger.

It depends on the quality of the suppressant. The length of time one’s been on them. The potency of the person’s natural scent. Your biology.

The few sentences they’d exchanged were friendly enough. Vanilla chitchat about snow conditions and the influx of tourists. About whether she wouldn’t mind setting a particular size aside for a student he’d have this day or that. Neutral topics. Always professional.

He gives private lessons for a premium price. A decorated former Olympian. The prized show pony snowboarder who’d taken seasonal residence at the Hoth. The poster boy of the resort’s prestige, promising a grand winter experience to the rich whose skis carved permanent grooves into the mountainside.

He’s handsome, has undeniable presence, easy going from what she can tell. Has an air of certainty about him, like nothing could knock him off balance. An Alpha through and through.

And maybe she’s watched him glide down the double black a few times. Maybe she can attest to his skill and grace. Has witnessed his slaloms through fresh powder in the early morning light. A shadowy ghost slicing through pristine white in the hazy blue light of dawn.

He’s fascinating to watch. Fascinating to look at. He’s tall and broad. His hair luxurious no matter how long he’s worn a helmet or beanie, how much the wind or snow’s tried to tousle it or the strap of his goggles tries to flatten it. He has an aquiline nose and rich, warm eyes. A plush mouth that’s utterly enchanting when he talks. A constellation of beauty marks to offset his facial hair.

But what really gets her is his scent. She’s been on the brink of asking, once or twice, why he’s not taking his suppressants. They’re mandatory for all staff, even if he spends most of his time outdoors. Why he insists on assaulting her and other demihumans with his unholy scent.

Because it’s true. He smells inhuman. A scent custom made to torment her soul and wreck her biology.

He’s all the warmth of a crackling fire on a snowy evening. The spice of clove oil. The sweetness of orange flower. An undercurrent of masculine vanilla that sets her glands pulsing and her cunt throbbing. 

It’s obscene. It’s a hazard. He’s torturous to be around. Difficult to talk to despite the easiness he speaks with.

She never fails to notice how his eyes darken when they talk. How his lip curls into a crooked, private smile when she cracks a terrible, stilted joke. How his nostrils flare when her glands itch despite the top shelf suppressants she takes courtesy of the resort’s healthcare plan. How his intensity becomes a tangible thing as he casually leans on the rental counter with his windblown raven hair to focus her with his undivided attention. Fingers toying suggestively with the strap of his chrome rimmed goggles.

So she’s a bit surprised when she sees him in the communal hot tub tonight. Devoid of all the protocols and staff etiquettes they prescribe to during the day. An Alpha in his natural state.

She’d gone to hang with the daytime staff in the lounge. Had a few drinks. Threw some darts and shot the shit. Forged the fresh bonds she’d depend on for the season. Moseyed back to her cabin at the very edge of the resort under a light snowfall with a pleasant buzz.

They’re good people, her coworkers. She likes Rose best. A fiery Beta with the _best_ stories from front desk. About flinty eyed teenagers trying to sneak in booze. About people awkwardly denying porn charges on their bills in front of their spouses.

Tonight she’d regaled them with a story of a spoiled Omega who’d forgotten her suppressants and _demanded_ she be sent a refill to her room. She’d left no contact details for her family physician. They’d drawn straws on who’d get the honours to deal with the situation.

There’s others, of course. A healthy mix of designations. Hints of lemon and lilac, leather and peppercorn. Muted clean scents that harmonized surprisingly well in the wood panelled lounge. But none smell quite like Ben Solo and his cozy warmth. 

Since she’d started at the Hoth, the outdoor hot tub sat mostly unused. Too far from the rest of the staff cabins to be frequented by anyone who didn’t live close by. A hidden gem she thought was hers alone, tucked between the firs. 

There’s only 3 cabins surrounding it. They’re furthest from the staff accommodations. Practically secluded but for the well worn stone path. An invigorating walk away from the hub. Since she’d been a late arrival, taking the position on a whim, she’d been assigned to that empty batch. And for the first 2 weeks she was blessedly alone there. 

It was nice.

Rey’s not used to being surrounded by people. Is used to working with her hands and keeping to herself. Had grown accustomed to the scents of welded metal and synthetic oils, not people.

So her secluded living arrangement for the season worked just fine. Acted as a buffer between the socially intensive days she’d spend at the rental counter and the evenings spent fraternizing with her fellow co-workers. A comfortable den to retreat to.

An Omega’s dream work/life balance.

The long walk would help clear her nose. By the time she’d arrive, she could sink into the familiarity of the cabin that’s already taken on the homely scent of _her._

She’d come to associate the hot tub with her own personal space. The courtyard hasn’t seen another person other than Rey. Aside from the maintenance crew that showed up to clear the path when it snowed. Aside from the pool operator who’d show up every few days to test the ph and chlorination levels. 

It was hers and hers alone. An outdoor extension of her nest.

Tonight is the first night she’s seen another person in there.

And it’s fitting that the only other person to enter her sacred space would be the Alpha that buckles her knees.

His arms are extended above the water. A princely spread that spans the edge of the tub. That claims the spa and its surroundings as his turf. His wet hair peppered with fresh snow flakes. Thick, corded arms shining wetly under the moonlight while the tub steams around his body.

The beer sloshing in her belly makes her want to go say hi. Talk to him outside of the busy rental shop. Fill her lungs with his intoxicating smell and test the waters without the formalities of being on the clock.

She’s pretty sure they have chemistry and she’s been alone so very long. It’s been months since her heat. Months since her ex boyfriend tried to bite her against her will. Months since she’d smelled anything as enticing as Ben Solo.

No. Scratch that. She’s smelled plenty of delicious Alphas. None have ever come this close to perfection. With her beer goggles on she might even venture to say that he _is_ perfection.

No one else has struck her fancy. No one else is as intriguing or as mysterious as the reclusive Ben Solo. 

He’d only appeared a week ago. Doesn’t hang out with the staff but is occasionally seen conversing with management. Nobody knows where he’s staying even though he’s on the staff roster. Most of her coworkers have posited he’s been put up in one of the penthouse suites in the main hotel. Paraded around to the wealthier clientele so they can gawk at the accomplished Alpha on their payroll.

He’s an irresistibly scented enigma which makes getting to know him all the more titillating.

Rey lets herself into her cabin quietly. If he’s had a long day teaching, a long day in the cold on the slopes, he deserves a little R&R. So she takes a hot shower to wash off the scent of rubber mats and crisp outdoors.

Prepares her options on how to approach him. Let’s her mind wander and her imagination dip into her baser urges. 

Would he be gentle? His soft smile and soothing scent would say yes.

Would he be rough? His intense eyes and knowing smirks would also say yes.

She imagines anyone who smells like _that_ could make her toes curl. Would knot her so thoroughly she’d forget her own name. Just the thought of his large hands gripping the strap of his goggles dredges up images of those same fists gripping her headboard. Pebbles her nipples and releases a trickle of slick.

Rey steps out of the shower, resolved to probe this magnetic pull. It’s biology after all. Part of their condition. It would be remiss to ignore such a strong reaction. Besides, she has a heat coming up. It’s been scheduled with management and if she could get help with it rather than writhe painfully with a woefully underwhelming toy, it’s worth a shot.

She dries herself thoroughly and folds up her uniform. Snuggles into her flannel robe while she ponders appropriate attire. Pads into her main living space to see if Ben Solo is even still _in_ the tub and work up the nerve to approach him off the clock.

What she sees is a complete and utter shock.

He’s still in the hot tub, alright. 

Now sitting on the very lip facing her cabin, legs spread and calves submerged. A head of long brown hair bobs between his legs. His head’s thrown back, one hand curled in the woman’s hair. Holding it in a lopsided ponytail and guiding her along.

His naked pectorals gleam under the ambient lights lining the perimeter. Chiselled abdomen clenching with each harsh breath. Neck exposed where the pink of his scent glands peeks from beneath his damp hair.

She knows she should look away. Knows he’s having a private moment with what appears to be a hotel guest based on the blue paper bracelet wrapped around her wrist. A Beta, too, judging by the lack of glands.

But she can’t. 

  
Rey stands frozen. Feet glued to the shag rug, heart racing as she watches the almost-perfect Alpha get blown by some rich bimbo. Mesmerized by the exposed shape of him beneath those layers of gear she’d grown used to. The ghost of his scent tickling her nose and making her cunt throb on impulse. 

The darkest part of her wishing the woman would move aside so she could see what he’s packing between those strong legs. Wishing to catch a glimpse of a beautiful Alpha cock and his strong knot. 

Another part of her shatters. 

Her Omega hindbrain wailing that she’s not good enough for this Alpha. That she’s waited too long to stake her claim. That she’s not curvy enough. Not busty enough. That she’ll never get to be with a strong, potent Alpha like Ben.

Logically, she knows she has no claim on him. He doesn’t belong to her just as she doesn’t belong to him. And yet there’s a hint of sorrow because no one’s ever smelled quite as good. Quite as alluring.

And then there’s the spike of jealousy. Why this _Beta?_ She’s not built to take his knot like Rey. Isn’t built to withstand the wild abandon of rut. If it was Rey between his legs he’d be _begging_. She’d be rubbing her slick into his skin while choking him down to his knot. She’d know just how to work it, too.

There’s an intuitive understanding between Alphas and Omegas that Betas simply don’t understand. They pine for it, consume X-rated media by the boatloads. Invest in toys that are a sad mimicry of the real thing and fantasize about the dynamic they’ll never fully grasp.

And sure, Rey’s been with Betas. The sex is fine. But nothing compares to the bone-melting pleasure an Alpha can bestow on an Omega. Nothing could compare to an Omega’s cunt, slick and soft, made for knotting.

What she _should_ do is turn away. Afford him the privacy to get his beautiful rocks off and take those glimpses of Alpha into her bedroom. Maybe pull out her trusty knotting toy to ease the throb instead of watching like the depraved, lonely Omega she is.

It’s wrong. It’s considered voyeurism. And yet she’s between her own four walls, so does that still count? Is what he’s doing exhibitionism? Does he know her cabin is occupied? She really should give him privacy for this intimate moment he’s sharing.

Even so, she doesn’t move. Transfixed by this powerful Alpha’s body. Wishing it were her hands on his thighs. Wondering what he tastes like. Wondering what undertone blooms when he’s aroused. When he cums.

Is it the vanilla? The smoke? The clove? What does his essence taste like straight from the source?

Unconsciously, she licks her lips. Hand slipping between the folds of her flannel to find her thighs sticky with slick. Gasps at the discovery.

His head rolls sideways. Watches the brunette work him indifferently, her back flexing as her head bobs robotically. His free arm wraps around her head to push her down further. Lips pressed in a firm line like he’s steeling his resolve to cum rather than enjoying the experience. 

His eyes lift towards her cabin and bore into her living space. Hone onto her very own shocked ones hidden in the shadows.

Shit. He’s seen her.

It should be impossible. She’s too far, it’s too dark. But it’s real. She feels the heat of his eyes with the same certainty she feels a trickle of slick slide down her thigh.

He’s captured her. Hooked her eyes with his. Doesn’t let her go.

Doesn’t stop what he’s doing either though.

He bites his lip, furrows his brow, eyes never leaving her. His neck flexes, biceps bulging as he guides the head that pleasures him harder. Like he’s found his lust in her eyes and chases it in another’s mouth. 

And even through the thick window and the distance she can hear the guttural moan he cums with. Can see the woman’s arms flail as he holds her head down and grinds his hips forward roughly. Eyes never leaving her own as his jaw goes slack.

For a split second she can feel the hot lick of his peak. Can feel her own nerves spark between her legs like the ghost of an orgasm. Like they’d bridged to become one through just eye contact.

Can imagine the earth shattering experience being knotted by this prime specimen would be.

The brunette slaps his thigh hard. Pulls away and spits into the hot tub, gags loudly. She screeches, calling him a fucking asshole as he tucks himself back in his trunks. The offending body shielding his actions from her view. A sly grin blooms in her direction.

She can hear the woman swearing as she clambers out of the tub. Her bikini top is undone, ample bosom on full display as she wipes her mouth with a towel. All the while Ben’s eyes haven’t left her. Darker than she’s ever seen them. Like a predator locked onto prey.

“You’re a fucking dick, I told you not to cum in my mouth,” the brunette wails, wrapping the towel around herself, “you were supposed to give me the full Alpha experience.”

He slaps her ass indifferently. “You don’t deserve to ride my cock. Couldn’t take my knot.”

“Oh fuck you,” she hisses fiercely. 

“You wish,” he smirks darkly at Rey. 

  
Rey who’s still got her hand wedged between her thighs. Rey who he can see clearly despite all odds.

“I’m cancelling my lesson,” the brunette’s threat falls on deaf ears, apparently.

“Go ahead,” he tilts his head to grin in her direction, “there’s plenty of Beta instructors who’d be more than willing to scratch that itch.”

The woman freezes. Indignation and venom glaring at the Alpha she’s just pleasured. Why does she find this arousing?

Here’s an Alpha— 

_Our Alpha_

—who’s just made a mockery of his designation. Sold it off like it was a day trip on the hotel activity roster. He’s clearly incapable of the type of intimacy that _should_ exist between a man and a woman. Between an _Alpha_ and his _Omega_.

And yet, she still wants him. Finds his attunement to her irresistible despite witnessing it with another woman.

Biology naturally responding to his show of virility.

_He needs an Omega. A good, sweet, soft Omega. Us. He needs us._

“Get the fuck out,” he rumbles. Affording the woman’s icy glare the full brunt of an Alpha’s threat. The tone, an unmistakable command. And _that,_ too, makes another trickle of slick glide down her leg. 

It seems to do the trick. The woman collects her items in a tizzy, storming off down the path wearing only her towel. Clutching her clothes, indifferent to the light snow and sub zero temperatures.

Ben, on the other hand stretches luxuriously. Like he can finally relax. 

His hand comes up to massage his scent gland. The other grips his bulge and strokes. He slips back into the water without a care in the world. Leans his head against the lip and closes his eyes. One hand continues to massage the scent gland, the other begins a rhythmic stroke under the rolling surface of the water.

Rey’s not sure what to do with what she’s just seen. 

So while his attention is elsewhere, while he’s broken the leash she’d been tethered on, she toes her way backwards. Into the dark confines of her bedroom. 

She doesn’t shut the door. Doesn’t take off her robe.

Instead she fumbles through her nightstand with shaky hands. Wedges her knotting toy into her slick soaked cunt. Pumps herself to completion.

She doesn’t hear her door knob turn and rattle. Doesn’t hear the frustrated howl of a horny Alpha being denied. Doesn’t hear him groan as he paints her cabin door with his spend.

She hears nothing because the force of her own orgasm makes her scream.

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


She should apologize. For the intrusion. For watching. For not turning away when she’d been caught.

But she doesn’t know where he’s staying. Assumes she’ll see him at the rental booth where they’ll both have to pretend everything is normal.

Maybe, if she manages to find the right words, she’ll ask if he’d like to talk later when they’re both off shift. Maybe she’ll get lucky and see him at breakfast. Maybe at lunch.

There are plenty of chances for their schedules to intersect. 

She holds onto that thought as she walks out of her front door in the morning. Holds on tighter when the scent of him smashes her resolve to bits as she locks up. Like he’d managed to imbue the landscape with his essence.

He’s not on the slopes that morning. He’s not at breakfast. He doesn’t come to the rental booth with a student. 

Her day is filled with the crisp scent of snow dragged in by the masses of tourists. Filled with screaming children and know-it-alls who force themselves into tighter bindings. 

She visits Finn for lunch who whips up a burger in the kitchens for her. Chats with Dameron who’s between group ski lessons. Walks through the village with Kaydel. Past the overpriced shops with high end sporting brands and tacky souvenirs. Back to the rental shop where they separate so Kay can head back and continue doling out lift passes.

All day she keeps an eye out. All day she doesn’t catch so much as a glimpse of the dark haired Alpha.

She’s all but convinced she’ll have to wait another day when she walks into the lobby to grab Rose for the evening. Rose who’d just clocked out and is chatting with the leathery scented Dameron. 

Tonight is billiards night and she’s about ready to school Dameron who’d talked a big game the night before. Maybe, if she plays her cards right, she can covertly ask if anyone’s seen Ben.

That’s when she sees _him._

He’s in the corner of the lobby, tucked away from the main bustle, sprawled on a couch. A leggy blonde Beta draped over his side murmuring in his ear. His arm wrapped around her waist.

When their eyes meet, there’s a glint in his.

It’s recognition and the dark, charged undertones of lust. His hand wraps tighter around the blonde’s waist and a smirk grows her way. He wants to do that again. Let her watch.

And just like that, it’s decided.

He might smell like heaven. He might be the most perfect Alpha she’s ever met. But he’s a piece of shit with no respect and a very strange exhibitionism fetish.

And Rey’s had enough of being a plaything. Of being disposable.

Her ex treated her like property. Her parents considered her expendable. Her foster father used her as a bargaining chip to milk more money out of the system. Money he didn’t reinvest in designation education as mandated. Didn’t invest in quality suppressants and heat relief materials as required.

No. Rey Johnson is tired of being a toy. Of not being a person. Of being an Omega to be used as seen fit. Of being used to gratify yet another Alpha’s selfish desire.

Her Omega is wailing, keyed up from lack of an Alpha's attention. Her body craves closeness. The warmth of a person, not a toy.

So she does the next best thing she can think of.

Rey turns her eye to the other pleasant smelling Alpha in the room.

She puts on her best hip sway and saunters over to Poe Dameron. Purrs his name and zones into what she _can_ have.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m too chickenshit to post this on main. So enjoy it on anon 👀
> 
> Story is mapped out so fear not, it will not be abandoned.
> 
> I’d also like to go on record to say I know jack shit about snowboarding.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time he sees her around the resort is purely by accident.

He’s never seen anyone like her.

When he’d accepted his mother’s request to teach snowboarding at the Hoth, he’d done it as a favour. 

She’d practically begged. Something that doesn’t come naturally to his mother. To an Alpha.

Their resident snowboard instructor had mated and chosen to move halfway across the country. It left the resort without a skilled teacher. They had a few who dabbled, but most were skiers by nature. They could impart textbook knowledge, bunny hill practice and get students acclimated to the movements, but beyond that they were flying blind. 

So he’d done what any uniquely skilled Alpha would do. Grasped the opportunity to relax for a season.

They’d hammered out details well into the evening — no group lessons, private only. The dabbling instructors on the roster could handle the basics, it would be a waste of his talents to spend time coaxing newbies off their snow dusted asses. Lessons would be on his schedule, not theirs. Private accommodations non-negotiable. Up his suppressants because ... decency. A 3 month test run after which he’d be free to decide if he’d like to continue. 

It would be a nice break from the queue of charity events he’d get roped into. A break from requests to guest commentate on regional competitions, from branding campaigns and signing posters for young hopefuls. From the endless parade of Omegas that never smelled quite right trying to snag an accomplished Alpha. And he’d had enough of those things. 

All of them.

It gave him the chance to test out teaching and if that went well, he could work his way into coaching.

Wind his way into a quieter life.

And maybe, _just_ maybe, once he’d found a new rhythm, he could work on finding himself a nice Omega to settle down with. Away from the whirlwind of the public eye. One who didn’t use him (like his ex) to further her career.

Ben’s never had an opinion swinging either way on Omegas. He’d had his fill of a different Omega each night at the height of his career. Willing bed warmers begging him to bite them even if they weren’t in heat. After the novelty of having his knot milked on the regular wore off, he’d tried cleaning up his public image. Tried walking the straight line. With the wrong Omega.

She’d tethered her budding influencer career to his image. Pushed him into sponsorships that didn’t align with his ambitions. Dragged him into the public eye for appearances. All the while dangling the proverbial slick covered carrot in front of his nose.

And in retrospect he should have seen her for what she was. Another conniving Omega using her wiles to rope him in. In retrospect, she didn’t even smell that great. 

But hindsight is always 20/20.

He’d sworn off Omegas for the foreseeable future. Sworn himself to Betas _only_ should the need arise. Until he’d right the course and try again without his career’s shadow drawing the wrong attention.

He’d arrived late at night and been given a cabin like the rest of the staff. Far away from everyone else (as requested). Tucked into the very back of the resort. A private area comprised of 3 empty cabins facing a courtyard with a hot tub. 

It was the perfect place for an Alpha to shake out his fur. A rustic little cottage tucked into a grove of evergreens an invigorating walk from the main facilities. The perfect place to clear his nose and, for once, just chill.

What he hadn’t expected was to see a delightful little Omega come out of the adjacent cabin his first morning. 

She was all button nose and hazel eyes. Freckles in the dead of winter. Fierce rather than the usual soft curves and pleading eyes of your run-of-the-mill Omega. Had silky chestnut hair piled high in a bun.

He watched her pass from his cabin window. An apparition in a ratty bomber bathed in early morning sunlight filtering through the snow ladened firs. A shock of tanned skin, shimmering chestnut and the resort’s navy blue against the glittering fresh snow.

Yet, marring her presence, was the indignation of having a neighbour when he’d requested privacy. 

He’d swung from pleasantly surprised to utterly _pissed_. 

Stormed out of his cabin the moment she’d disappeared down the path. Prepared to march down to the GM’s office and _demand_ the secluded accommodations he’d been promised. He didn’t _agree_ to be this close to others. Didn’t _agree_ to be housed near an Omega of all things.

Omegas had habits. They had scents and heats. Hoarded textiles and developed territorial tendencies, especially near their ‘delicate’ time. And unless _this_ one had _just_ finished her heat, chances were, he’d have to withstand a weeklong sex frenzy between her and her mate in close proximity during his stint at the Hoth.

It would be the antithesis of relaxation. The exact opposite of chill.

And _that_ was unacceptable.

Except the moment he’d stepped out into the fresh snow, his entire world shifted on its axis.

There, in the cold cast of dawn, he picked up her lingering scent. The lush, exotic sweetness of vanilla bean. Almond cream, frozen and crisp. The toasty notes of roasted pistachios. Pure and untouched, not a single note belonging to an Alpha. An available Omega that smelled like heaven. A delicious scoop of artisan ice cream on a hot day. A decadent dessert that made his mouth water and his glands itch.

And that was only the waft she’d left behind in her wake. 

So in light of the olfactory assault he’d trudged back into his cabin and, after a furious masturbation session featuring a fully popped knot, stormed into the GM’s office for another reason altogether.

He’d demanded to know why others on staff weren’t using the same grade of suppressant as him. 

Holdo, of course, became alarmed. Guest safety being of utmost concern for the prestigious resort she oversaw. If one of the staff members weren’t following guidelines it could pose a federal risk and see them shut down at the height of their season.

Holdo promised she’d have all the staff tested. So he’d left in a flurry of emotions and took his anger out on the slopes. Spent the morning slicing and carving through the fresh powder. Left the first tracks on the double black then went back to bisect them all.

Chasing top speeds to drain his adrenaline and wash out the memory of _that_ scent. Snorkelling through patches of untouched snow, letting the wall of powdery white coat his face and gear before building speed to repeat. Bathing in its icy spray.

He’d sequestered himself back to his cabin for the remainder of the day afterwards. To jerk off angrily, working off the rough edges of a faux rut that tingled down his spine. Unable to get the scent of sweet, ripe Omega out of his nose.

When Holdo phoned his cabin later that evening to let him know everyone was, in fact, taking suppressants he’d torn the cabin apart. Flipped the table and destroyed a chair.

He’d made his second demand known, out of spite. Grilled the GM about why he wasn’t given the private accommodations he was promised. Only to be soothed with the pathetic excuse that the cabin _is_ private. That he’d need to understand they’re in peak season and it’s all hands on deck. That this is the best she could do.

So he’d hung up furiously. Smashed the remains of the chair to bits.

Checked Google to confirm his suspicion only to be proven right.

It would be just his luck, wouldn’t it? 

He tries to turn his life around, tries to find direction after a dizzying career on the slopes. Tries to unwind enough to find direction after retirement. Only to be confronted with the most beautiful and terrifying thing that could happen to any Alpha.

_The one._

It’s the only explanation. 

Alpha and Omega. Biologically built to compliment one another but for the _one_ technicality that sees a perfectly matched pair. Your once in a lifetime. Not a compliment but an inherent attunement that starts, according to scientists, in your olfactory epithelium. 

The nose knows, they say. 

Suppressants are 99% effective so long as you’re not confronted with your perfect match. In _that_ case, they’re nothing but a sugar pill. A placebo. The scent of _the one_ manages to ooze through the chemical mesh of the suppressant and zing your brain in that most ancient way.

Finding _the one_ is like finding a needle in a haystack. A 1 in 7 _billion_ chance. And he’d apparently hit the jackpot.

He’s seen it happen only once. At the Olympic village. Ages ago at his first games. A fellow snowboarder, one Ben admired, from Sweden met his perfect mate. A reporter from Austria conducting interviews with a pair of figure skaters from her home country. The athlete had gone feral. Stormed across the quad in a show of untamed savagery, picking the Omega up in a fireman carry and hauling her back to his cave. 

He was removed from his team, later. The reporter wasn’t seen around the village again either. Neither were heard from again (at least not in international media) but their story lived in infamy. Became fodder for the swooning masses and the spark to a new wave of romance novels.

But Ben isn’t _that_ guy. He’s got control. He’s always been able to suppress his baser urges.

So from that day on, he’d thrown himself into teaching. Avoided any and all staff socializing to avoid being around _her_. To avoid an unplanned rut which she would surely trigger. 

Instead of facing the odds, he let Holdo parade him around like a prize stallion and interacted with his Omega only as much as necessary. Only surrounded by crowds and in broad daylight.

Because that’s what she is. _His_ Omega.

That first week, he _lived_ for their brief interactions. 

He’d learned on his second day that her name was Rey Johnson. That she manned the rental booth during the day. That she dabbled in snowboarding and was an absolute terrible skier. That she was from Jakku. A little fact he still doesn’t understand because why would perpetual summer take a gig in the mountains? 

Every day he’d bat off advances from the rich Betas and Omegas staying at the resort. Women looking to indulge in a little debauchery on vacation. Who knew who he was. Betas looking to cash in on the Alpha fantasy.

If he hadn’t been interested at first, the scent of _the one_ surely squashed all intentions after his first whiff.

Yet all the contact avoidance and furious masturbating were unable to relieve the itch _she_ set off under his skin. Rendered him incapable of indulging in relieving his needs. Because _they_ didn’t smell like _her._

He’d lean on the rental counter to bask in her scent. Ask mundane questions. Make petty requests for students he didn’t give a shit about. All in an effort to remain in her orbit just a little longer. In a thinly veiled effort to sense her level of interest.

One time she’d made a garbage joke about the influx turning the snow to crud. Something that could be said about every day at the resort. The snow _always_ turned to crud by the end of the day after the throngs had churned it with their skis and boards. But he’d laughed — brayed, actually. 

She smelled like sex on legs. Like her cunt was the epicenter of his being yet he couldn’t reach it without crossing a line he wasn’t sure she wanted crossed. 

She seemed woefully unaware of their chemistry. Indifferent to his presence. So he’d relented to the belief that she may be _his_ one, but he might not be hers. Because that’s possible, right? Demihumans have different degrees of scent to them. The interest isn’t always reciprocated.

Right?

It was the only logical explanation why his perfect mate wasn’t responding to him biologically.

So he’d talk and watch. Catch glimpses of her pupils dilating. Catch the bloom of her aroma when he’d suggestively stroke the rim of his goggles. It was a little game he’d started playing. Dropping hints and waiting for the reaction to test a budding theory. That she _might_ reciprocate.

And she did? Maybe?

Colour would rise in her cheeks and her eyes would widen. Her nostrils would flare when his hormones would spike. The ones _she_ set off. But she’d always shutter the reaction. Reeling back as if he’d burned her.

She was skittish and reserved. Showed no traces of scarring on her neck the few times she’d craned it enough for him to get a good look.

He’d decided right then and there, if he plays his cards right, he might stand a chance at courting his Omega. Might stand a chance at wooing his perfect mate.

But an Alpha has needs. And the more he’d seen her laugh and giggle freely with other staffers, men in particular (Alphas to boot), the more his dick pressed his urgency. Turned him into a grunting animal that needed to fuck out his frustrations.

His fist became worn quickly. His knot-friendly fleshlight a sopping, overwashed mess. He’d gone through a bottle of imitation slick in less than a week. Nothing quenched his thirst.

So one fateful evening he’d relented yet again and took back a brunette. She'd been flirting with him relentlessly since day one and had roughly the same build as his Omega. So he'd steeled his resolve. Prepared to fuck this Beta into the mattress. To fuck his unfulfilled frustrations into her wanting hole. To regain a semblance of control so he could _just focus_ in _her_ presence.

What happened from there is still a blur in his mind.

He knows for certain he’d chickened out before they got to his place. The scent of Rey wafting from her cabin, slicing through the light snow that had begun falling. So in a stroke of genius he’d asked, what was her name again? Stacey? Savannah? Whatever. He’d asked the Beta to take a dip in the tub instead.

She’d been more than happy to oblige. Grasped the opportunity to carve herself a chunk of Alpha. Without preamble she’d suggested sucking his cock right there in the tub. Probably a wish to get a close up look at a live knot.

It was sloppy and robotic. Not tight enough. Not hot enough. Despite his Omega’s lingering scent in the courtyard, the Beta’s saliva had its own muted, bitter twang. One that managed to cut the pleasant sweetness in the air and soften his erection.

He remembers trying to block it out by letting his head fall back. Letting snowflakes tickle his face while she sucked his cock half assed. There’s something about a Beta’s arousal that leaves an Alpha wanting. A lack of the consuming sort of desire only an Omega can bestow on a worthy Alpha. The heady enthusiasm and passion only an Omega awaken.

So he’d imagined it was Rey’s mouth working his length. Rey’s hands on his thighs. And it worked. He felt his arousal ramping. His breathing quickened. His cock hardend again.

He remembers chancing a look to watch. It did nothing. So he scowled and turned his eye toward the cabin that contained what he couldn’t have. To imagine himself in there, surrounded by _her_ scent and _her_ things. Doing unspeakable things to _her._

And this part he remembers with utmost clarity. The shocked face of his Omega. 

Wide hazel eyes entombed in darkness yet to him, she’d shone through that large paned window, crystal clear. Her wet hair slicked down her back. A red checkered robe that’s seen better days split open to her abdomen. Giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her freckled chest and the swells of her breasts. Her hand hidden between the folds but undeniably between her legs. Her mouth slack.

His knot began swelling immediately. Cock thrumming with the influx of blood. Balls drawn tight ready for the imminent release.

He remembers cradling the Beta’s head while holding his Omega’s gaze. Remembers thrusting into a mouth he’d pretended was _hers_. Remembers being rough. Releasing his Alpha-sized load while tethered to _her._

The rest is a bit of a wash.

He’d been so transfixed with remaining bridged to his Omega, he’d barely registered the Beta’s sputtering words. Some kind of indignant screeching that can only come from a life of luxury and fulfilled whims. The kind of screeching tantrum one a spoiled child threw when they didn't get their way.

He’d told her to fuck off, that much he remembers.

When her muted bitterness left his vicinity, he’d let himself sink into the tub. Massaging the throbbing glands on his neck. Stroking his knot which was still begging for an Omega cunt. _The_ Omega cunt.

And, somewhere in the brief span of time he’d lost sight of her. 

So he remembers doing what his Alpha kept chanting for him to do. To go to her. To claim her. He tried knocking with no answer. Tried opening the door only to find it locked. He heard her moaning. The sound like music to his wanting ears. 

So he’d jacked off with his palm against her door. Beat his dick to the rhythm of her breathy moans. Heard her screaming her orgasm, the rich scent of fuckable Omega seeping through the microscopic cracks of her cabin and rendering him useless. Came with her on a forlorn howl and painted her door. Marking his territory.

If he couldn’t have her, nobody would. 

She’s his.

_His._

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


Shame is all he felt the next morning.

Complete and utter shame.

_His_ Omega had to witness him with another woman. 

If the tables were turned he’d have uprooted trees and reduced her door to splinters. Would have bloodied the offending party until there was nothing to resuscitate then fucked her on top of the corpse to stake his claim.

He’d made an utter fool of himself and had probably lost his chance completely. Doom settling into every pore of his body, compacting around him until it was as immovable as hard packed snow.

So he’d done what any shirked Alpha would do.

He’d called in sick. 

Rescheduled his classes and moseyed about his cabin until the walls began closing in. Until the urge to seek her out became unbearable and he’d resolved to face the music.

In the early evening he’d ventured out to the main building. Wearing nothing but casual attire and a light down jacket. 

His ultimate plan was to wait until she’d walk into the lobby on her way to clock out. Catch her en route and maybe whisk her off towards their cabins so they could walk and talk. For real this time. No vanilla bullshit. No socially acceptable topics. Just Ben and Rey, figuring each other out. 

But he’d been roped into an introductory interview with a potential student. A tall, leggy blonde Beta whose name didn’t stick. Someone he could have indulged in before his brain had been rewired to respond to only _one_ scent.

He’d tried to keep it professional. Asked specific questions to whittle out if she’s a gaper. He’d only taken on teaching for a week and been duped a few times into green lessons.

Didn’t even think much about it when she’d shifted to sit beside him on the sofa. When the questions she'd asked became more personal. 

His brain was too busy sweeping for any trace of _that_ scent. Too busy rooting through conversation topics to broach with the skittish Omega he’d like to apologize to. The Omega he’d like court properly.

Then, when his potential student draped herself over his side, touched his chest and murmured she’d always wondered what being with an Alpha was like, his traitorous cock twitched. Not because of the Beta, but because right then and there, the immaculate scent of heaven tickled his nose and set his Alpha alight.

And, of course, that’s the moment his Omega walks into the lobby. 

  
To add insult to injury, it’s also the moment she makes eye contact.

He’s not sure why he didn’t push the Beta off. Not sure why, instead of putting reasonable distance between their bodies, his hand decided to tighten instead. 

The sight of her washed him in relief. His Alpha preening towards his perfect mate, eyes darkening immediately when their gazes locked. Smirking towards the most perfect specimen he’d ever meet.

Only, he’d seen her returning gaze cycle through a series of emotions. Each dousing his chances a little more. 

First there was shock. Then there was a fleeting sliver of sadness. Lastly it became a fiery anger that hardened him in his pants and set his knot tingling.

The Beta draped over his side, the one he’d all but forgotten, runs her hand over his bulge. Believes it’s for her and leans in further to murmur, “wanna get out of here, Alpha?”

And he _wants_ to say no. 

He _should_ say no.

But he’s being hung out to dry.

In a few sauntering steps, _his_ Omega’s snuggled next to the resident ski instructor, Dameron. An Alpha he’d thought nothing of until this _very_ moment. 

Dameron had been pleasant thus far. Easy to be around. Exerted none of the Alpha posturing Ben had grown used to in professional sports. Someone he could imagine himself building a friendship with, a real one.

And here he was, with Rey’s arm slung through his. Receiving the private smiles _he_ should be getting. Being swooned over the way _he_ should be swooned over.

Rejection coiled hotly. Hackles rising as his Alpha aggression simmered.

Before he’s had a chance to untangle himself and give chase, they’d disappeared. Leaving him alone with a raging erection in the middle of the lobby and a very willing woman draped over his side.

Fine.

_Fine._

He’s fucked it up. She’s going to let another Alpha, the _wrong_ Alpha, court her. Have her. _Fuck_ her.

He snarls in the direction of the staff lounge.

He’s humiliated. Publicly emasculated. Angry, on the verge of going feral with no outlet in sight except…

“You want an Alpha?” he sneers darkly at the blonde whose name still doesn’t materialize.

“Sure do,” she purrs.

An option. A release sits daintily on the navy velveteen sofa. An overpriced mockery of functional slope apparel. A mockery of what he _needs_. Yet she’s offering her body in exchange for the opportunity to be ravished by a hungry Alpha. 

And he’s had his emotions put through the wringer. Has been dancing on the precipice of an unscheduled rut by a fickle Omega who’s _not_ chosen him.

“Let’s go.”

He tugs the Beta’s arm roughly and all but drags her towards his cabin. The woman giggling with anticipation all the while. Completely unaware of the dangerous Alpha roiling just below the surface.

This time he won’t chicken out. He needs to fuck and fuck hard. The aggression skittering down his back a noxious brew of outrage, seasoned with the pain of rejection.

He strips out of everything but his boxers right there in the courtyard. Slides into the hot tub and smashes the button to start the jets. If he’s going to fuck, he’s going to do it _right here._ Right where his Omega can _smell_ what he can do. Right where _he_ can smell _her._

It’s a pathetic second attempt to get her out of his system.

And just because he’s angry and horny and feeling right depraved, he starts stroking his cock roughly. It’s artless and bordering on painful. A reminder his fist or the cunt he’s about to fuck isn’t what he _actually_ wants. 

“What’s your name again?” For science, he needs to know.

“Tiffany,” she answers surprised.

_Tiffany._ Good. He’ll use her name and pepper in expletives so his Omega can _hear_ his virility.

Yet despite his obvious indifference, the determined Beta still slinks into the hot tub in the nude. Anticipates the fulfillment of her own Alpha fantasy.

Her fake tits look all wrong. Her face is wrong. The brown of her eyes doesn’t have the ribbons of green he craves. Her hair isn’t as silky or rich as the one he yearns for. She smells like perfume. Fake and pretentious.

But she’s the next best thing and if he doesn’t penetrate _something_ soon, his Alpha will shatter.

He wrangles _Tiffany_ onto his lap. Tells her he has a strict no kissing policy by way of explaining why he won’t be going anywhere near her perfumed face. She accepts this at face value. Probably convinced brooding is the MO of an Alpha while running her cold hands over his pectorals. While he grips her hips and rubs her dry fucking cunt over his clothed erection.

If only she knew what an Alpha is really capable of. What can exist between the two polar designations. The magnetic pull they can have on each other. That an Alpha can be soft and caring. That an Alpha can take his time to wring pleasure from his Omega.

Betas fantasize about the wild abandon of rut. Paint AOs like wild animals in their minds eyes and consume the matching media in stride. Stroking a flawed, misguided vision to get their rocks off.

That won’t stop him from relieving the itch he’s lived with since he’d arrived, though.

“You want an Alpha cock?”

“Oh, yes,” she moans.

“Think you can take a knot?” He’s not heartless, afterall.

“I’d like to,” the blonde, _fuck,_ Tiffany, moans again.

It’s nasal. Sounds wrong. Everything about this is wrong. But it’s the closest he’ll come to relief.

He needs to shut her up.

“Suck on my gland,” he commands. Dark, rich tones that would make his Omega shudder but elicits nothing from this Beta. A wasted opportunity to feel the soft glide of slick. To scent the blooming of arousal from where scent glands would normally weep for him.

She does. 

She leans forward, pressing her rock hard tits into his chest and begins awkwardly sucking on his neck. She doesn’t dote the attentions an Omega would. There’s no finesse. No savouring the pheromone rich cocktail that would drive his complimentary designation wild. Instead, she sucks like she’s trying to give him a hickey.

“Softer,” he instructs. And she obeys. 

Ben lets his head roll to the side. Grinds against her _still_ dry cunt.

It’s nothing personal. She might even _be_ wet, for all he knows. But there’s an inherent difference between the amounts of slick an Omega can produce, and the mediocre lubrication of someone who’s not. If he were a Beta, this would be an epic experience.

But he’s not.

_Omega would be slick for us._ His Alpha wails dejectedly.

Yeah, well. Fuck that Omega and her wiles. Fuck her and her bright eyes and her fuck me scent and her inability to see their unfulfilled potential. How well he’d take care of her. How thoroughly he’d knot her. How good he could make her feel during her next heat.

He’d pull her hair gently and whisper how _good_ she is. He’d stroke her wanting cunt with deep luscious strokes. Feed her every inch of his length and take her to the brink of ecstasy.

He’d keep her there, too. Impaled on his cock. On a knife’s edge ready to cum but drawing it out. 

He’d even eat her delicious cunt. Gorge on the slick he'd bet _tastes_ like artisan ice cream and make her writhe on his fingers. Get her nice and soft so when he’d knot her she’d see stars.

The blonde, _Tiffany,_ grunts against his neck. “Too rough,” she mumbles.

“You wanted an Alpha,” he grits his teeth, focuses on the blooming scent of Omega rather than the cloying chemical scent of perfume, “you’re getting an Alpha.”

He’s on the verge of slipping off his boxers and impaling the cunt that he’s convincing himself he needs when the tinkle of voices twitches his ear.

One, he’d recognize anywhere. The other, of _that_ Alpha.

He hears a door creak. Hears the voices murmur quietly.

Hears Tiffany moan as the door shuts again.

The swirling vortex of scents render him dizzy. The scent of warm pistachio and vanilla. The scent of leather and smoke. The scent of whatever the _fuck_ this Beta is wearing with its chemical itch. 

And amid the flurry one thing becomes crystal fucking clear. 

Fucking _Tiffany_ is _not_ going to ease a thing. All the orgasms in the world aren’t going to ease a thing. Because every load he releases that isn’t with _the one_ , will bear no relief. Bear no fruit.

“I can’t do this,” he growls, gritting his teeth, “I’m sorry.”

With a dejected howl, he pushes the Beta out of his lap and marches straight into his own cabin. 

There might be banging on his door. There might be the nasal voice of the Beta whose name he’s already forgotten asking if he’s alright. If she can come in.

He doesn’t register any of it.

Instead he drips the synthetic slick into his fleshlight and fucks into it with all that he has.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like my characters the way I like my coffee. Rich and robust.
> 
> Whoops?


	3. Chapter 3

It would be just her luck, wouldn’t it?

Poe, brazen Alpha as he may be, wasn’t into women.

They’d exchanged more words on the way to the staff lounge than they’d had since she started. He was nice enough, sweeter than your run-of-the-mill Alpha. But he was head over heels in love with Finn from the kitchen.

He’d painted a picture for her and Rose so pure, it made her heart lurch. Unearthed a side of Alphas she didn’t know existed. One where they could be soft and caring. Devote time to their partners.

So in the short span of time they’d conversed and his relationship unfurled before her eyes, she’d resigned to having her heat alone. 

Riding out her heat solo had always been a possibility when she’d taken the gig. But as she settled into her routine, she’d grown hopeful. Moreso once she’d met the irresistibly scented Alpha that had no interest in her aside from exhibiting his conquests. So that option went up in flames. In quick succession with her backup plan.

Sure, there’s still plenty of time between now and then. Another 2 weeks if her calculations are correct. 

But the staff was slim pickings. Of the few Alphas that shared her shifts, none smelled like Ben Solo. The only one who’d smelled pleasant enough was Poe and he wasn’t available. The others smelled acrid and foul up close. Not always pungent, sometimes bearable, but not enough to warrant lowering her standards.

And no level of desperation would see her stoop so low as to spend a heat with an Alpha whose scent she couldn’t stomach. A week of steeped sweat soaked sheets has a way of amplifying a scent. So unless it’s pleasant, it can dull the experience.

If she plays her cards right, she might be able to find someone on an alternate shift. Or even a vacationer. 

But he’d have to appear at just the right moment. Reside close enough to have driven to the resort so as to extend his stay in her nest. Respond to her biology in just the right way. Smell like a crackling fire on a wintry day. Like sweat and snow and … no. 

Not him.

He might be an Alpha. He might even be available. _Might_ even have shown some level of interest. But she won’t be a notch on his bedpost. No matter he smells like sex on legs and his knot would act like an anchor to her soul, unmoored as it may be. It doesn’t matter that he shares her shifts. 

He’s bad news. A bad Alpha. Will leave her feeling empty when it’s all said and done.

Of all the weak moments an Omega experiences in her life, Rey had learned the most delicate of them all is that 24 hour window right after her heat. When she’s emotionally and physically drained. When reality sets in and settles like hard packed snow.

Contrary to popular belief, she’s most fragile in _that_ short time frame. Not when she’s walking alone and unmated down the streets. Not when she’s going into heat. Not when she’s _in_ heat.

No. It’s that tiny passage of time that can only be described as limbo. The stairway between the hazy euphoria of heat and the return to the living world.

And letting someone as abrasive as the skirt-chasing Casanova see _that_ is absolutely out of the question. 

It would break her. With the way he smells and the way his presence alone sends her biology spiralling, it would destroy every ounce of self-worth she’d meticulously hoarded.

She’d moped around the lounge dejectedly after learning of Poe’s relationship. After that crude display in the lobby. Offering half hearted responses and tight smiles. Still managed to whoop Dameron at the pool table despite his good natured cajoling, even if the victory felt empty. 

And then, when she’d spent enough time without seeming reclusive, she’d feigned exhaustion and bid her coworkers goodnight. Pulled on her second-hand bomber and made her way out of the lounge only to be stopped just as she cleared the door by Poe.

“Let me walk you back?” His eyes were bright, soft.

“Sure,” she’d given him a tight smile.

He walked her down the path quietly. Hands fumbling in his pockets as each step crunched loudly in the compacted snow. 

“I was looking over the schedules earlier,” he says quietly, after much deliberation. “Noticed you’re due for heat leave soon. Is that why you—” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

Poe’s been a fixture at the Hoth for a long time. His face plastered on most of the pamphlets. He’d even starred in a commercial or two. A semi-professional athlete who never quite made the cut. An Alpha with a healthy outlet and a passion for snow. 

On paper, he’s an instructor. In reality, he’s as close to fraternizing with management as she’s gotten since her orientation.

So, of course he’d have noticed.

“Honestly? Yeah.” There’s no need to lie. It’s not happening anyway. “But I didn’t mean to come across as desperate. You just … you smelled nice and I thought what the hell.”

He laughs nervously, a shocking behaviour for an Alpha, at least one she’d never seen before. Then again, Steve wasn’t an exemplary Alpha. Neither is Ben. Most of the Alphas she’d met in Jakku hadn’t been, actually.

Decency and humility from an Alpha weren’t behaviours she’d seen much of at all, come to think of it. Not before she’d made the life changing decision to apply at the Hoth and get a fresh start.

Maybe she _should_ play the field more. Put herself out there.

“Hey man, don’t sweat it. No harm, no foul. I understand it was a big move for you coming out here ... and it’s nice to have someone to fall back on.” He shrugs good naturedly. “I can help you find an Alpha though,” the comment slips as if it’s a passing observation. Completely natural.

“That’d be kind of weird, wouldn’t it?”

“What? Why?” He stutters. “Finn’s your friend. He likes you and by extension, I like you. Not enough to—” his hands wring awkwardly in front of him, “but I’ve got a nose and a decent eye for people. I can help find you a good one if you need a partner.”

It’s a kind offer. A tiny shred of hope that maybe she can’t change her biology or situation, but it doesn’t have to be all pain, either.

“Pimp Dameron,” she muses with the first real smile in hours, “has a nice ring to it.”

“Oh fuck off.” He laughs, bumps her shoulder with his playfully.

They round the path to the back of the cabins. Glimpses of the courtyard capture her attention between the snowy evergreens. 

And of course, her luck is a bottomless well. Ben Solo is in the hot tub again. With the blonde from the lobby topless, grinding on his lap. Her lips sealed around his scent gland like she’d even know what to do with it.

She rolls her eyes and expels a long, harsh breath through her nose. Lets the vapour billow like she’s an enraged bull. Finds solace in the visual of the clouds she’s made. 

Oddly, there’s no smell of sex in the air. Nor that of Alpha arousal. 

Just a burning, somber kind of hostility laced with resentment churning through the air like storm clouds.

“Huh,” Poe mumbles at her side. “Didn’t take him for the type.”

Rey growls cynically. Her scorned Omega itching to tear the bleached hairs off the Beta’s head. To march up to the tub and interrupt that pathetic farce. 

Maybe she’d slap the offending Alpha. Maybe she’d fuck him properly. Who could tell which way she’d tip? He makes her a right emotional mess with his infuriatingly perfect, unsuppressed scent.

Instead, she braces her resolve and climbs up the stairs to her cabin without responding to Poe’s observation. Because she has no words and because there’s nothing to be said. 

Truth be told, she hadn’t taken him for the type either. Ben had been all kind smiles and intoxicating scent. She could have seen herself asking him to lend a hand. Could have seen him soothe her aches in the best ways possible. 

But he’d shown his true colours and Rey isn’t a fan of the palette.

Poe joins her at the door while she wrangles with the key. Sniffs emphatically, brows raising in surprise.

“He’s usually reserved. I’m surprised I can smell him. Must be nearing rut. Then again, that’s definitely a Beta in there.” His face screws in thought. “Didn’t seem like the possessive sort, either,” he adds, more to himself than for conversational purposes.

“Don’t care,” Rey sneers as the lock releases.

“Hey, so, listen,” Poe leans against the door jamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and fixes her with a brilliant smile.

“I _was_ being serious, you know? If you’re interested in spending your heat with someone, let me help you find them. I can get Finn and Rose involved too. 4 pairs of eyes is better than one. And 2 demi noses,” he pats his finger on his nose, then hers, “is better than one. We can send out feelers. You can let me know whose scents you like and whose repulse you. It’ll help us narrow your pool.”

Rey bobs her head along. It sounds like a decent proposal. Could amplify her chances and reduce the length of her heat. 

With an Alpha, especially the _right_ Alpha, a week can be shortened to 4 days. A significant time savings for Omegas who need to work for a living. 

“Between Rose and I, I’m sure even guests won’t be off limits. I won’t tell anyone, obviously. But we can have a look at bookings and narrow it down to only unmated Alpha guests who’ll be around at the time. Not sure if you know this but we require designations and copies of suppressant prescriptions on all reservations.”

It’s certainly a nice offer. In spite of it seeming like her heat is being put on the auction block.

But it’s hard to think with the scent of a crackling fire and warmed clove oil lingering. Distant as it may be, it’s potent enough to blanket her thoughts like an avalanche. “Can I think about it?”

“Yeah, of course.” Poe smiles again, chucking a soft fist at her shoulder. “But we’ll need to bleach your door. Ain’t nobody gonna come within a _mile_ of your place stinking like another Alpha.”

“What are you—” she balks, confused.

“Nothing. Nothing.” Poe’s voice cracks. He begins to take measured steps backwards, hands raised up like he’s surrendering. Shoulders pulling up high like he’s suddenly grown fearful. “I, uh … I have to go.” Another deep sniff, nose turned up to the air. His body tenses further like he’s caught whiff of imminent danger. “You uh, you should lock up for the night.”

Poe bounds down the stairs and takes the long way behind the cabins. Practically breaks into a run.

She hears a piercing howl. Long and mournful. Its length communicates exasperation. Its tone, the crippling pain of rejection. And with it comes the scent of a consuming fire and burnt clove oil. Wilted orange flower and stale vanilla. 

Her Omega preens.

Rey’s anxiety spikes.

She stumbles back into her cabin nervously. Door shutting quietly, lock clicking in place.

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


_He didn’t go through with it._ Her Omega gloats as she plops back onto the sofa after her shower. Hair still damp, skin freshly moisturized, and cheeks burning from restraining the giggles threatening to burst from her chest. 

She’d opened her bathroom window to let out the steam and the crisp air carried none of the notes that suggested sex. And that, for some reason, felt like a true victory.

She shouldn’t be happy. He’s still a dick.

A lousy womanizer. An epic piece of shit.

The embodiment of the worst an Alpha can be.

And yet, she can’t hold back the shit eating grin threatening to split her face.

Because … he hadn’t gone through with the act. Hadn’t debauched her sacred space. Hadn’t indulged in the fetish she was so certain he had. Then again, maybe he hadn’t seen her in the window.

But that _sound._

The painful, ear splitting sound of agony. It hadn’t been hers. It hadn’t been Poe’s. Beta’s don’t usually achieve a timbre that low. Don’t produce the vibrations required to travel distances and stir the marrow in one’s bones. The piercing howl she’d heard was too close to be from any of the main buildings. 

Deductive reasoning leads her to believe in only _one_ culprit.

Ben Solo.

The Alpha who smells like the very fabric of her dreams. It was _his_ howl that pierced the night. _His_ pained cries that sent shockwaves of tortured grief through the grove. 

And if she’d had a niggling feeling it was because he didn’t have a willing participant to his exhibitionist inclinations, her nose set that little bit of information aflame in a heartbeat. 

Because the scent lingering in the frigid air didn’t communicate anger or arousal. It stunk of torment and suffering. The kind of pain that seeps into your bones and splinters your soul. If she were to choose a single word to describe what she’d smelled, it was heartbreak.

So what _did_ he have to be heartbroken about?

She hears a door creak in the distance. Snow crunching. Getting closer.

The thudding of big feet in heavy boots on her front stoop. A loud, insistent rapping on her door.

“Rey?” The husky, broken voice of the Alpha filters through the wood.

Her body freezes. Unsure what to do about the near wild animal a few feet away. His thunderous presence seeping through the microscopic cracks of her cabin. She tucks her head low and sinks into the cushions of the couch.

“Rey?” He growls again, there’s the clinking of metal. The repeated thunderclap of a fist connecting with her door. The creaking of wood fighting to not splinter under the Alpha’s sheer force. “I know you’re in there.”

An idea forms. A little game to test a budding theory.

She quietly reaches for her laptop while he continues pummeling his fists into her door. 

It should be an impossibility based on his behaviour. And yet, perhaps it’s her Omega’s whining or her own hopes peeking their timid heads, there could be more. 

There’s the tiny bit of vindication at the prospect it might be because he wasn’t having _her._ That her little stunt with Poe in the lobby, fruitless as it may have been, has rankled the sure footed Alpha.

So to test this out, she navigates to an AO porn site and selects the Alpha masturbation category. Clicks on the first one she sees. A solo jack-off video titled ‘dirty talk for my good girls’ and lets it load.

“Fuck off, Solo,” she spits with as much venom as she can muster. Despite slick beginning to flow freely. Despite the needy throb beginning to manifest between her legs.

The Alpha on screen is naked. Fist wrapped around his knot in a tight squeeze. She waits for the video to buffer. 

“We need to talk,” he snarls. Like it’s his God given right to after his lewd displays of indifference. 

If Rey is the reason for his suffering, a possibility that seems more and more likely, well she’ll just have to make good and sure she knows this for a fact.

She rolls her eyes, ignores her Omega’s protestations. Her pleas to let the Alpha in and soothe his pain.

Instead, she perches the laptop on her coffee table. Clicks a few seconds into the video (to avoid any awkward introductions that would surely blow her cover) rolls the volume up to max, and hits play.

 _‘Look at you,'_ the Alpha on screen coos, _‘already so slick for me.’_

The banging on the door stops. Harsh, heavy breaths expelled against the wood louder than the Alpha stroking his knot on her screen. Like Ben’s pressing his ear to the door.

The masturbating Alpha grunts. Runs his fist up his length and twists around his cockhead. It doesn’t do anything for her. He’s broad but too defined. Has the movie star kind of abs that come with a strict diet and too many hours in a gym. 

  
Rey much prefers hearty, wholesome meals. Not protein shakes and boiled eggs. A little more softness to her Alpha’s build. A natural strength, not an artificial one built with dumbbells.

The Alpha at her door cries dejectedly. Palm slapping the wood and setting the entire frame rattling.

_‘Can you play with that slick little pussy for me?’_ The Alpha on screen flexes and brings his knot right up to the camera. _‘Run your fingers through that delicious slick and rub it into my knot for me. Be a good girl and slick daddy up.’_

“Fuuuuuck!” The pained growl at her door is accompanied by soft thumps. Ones she imagines being made by Ben Solo’s perfect fucking hair as his head bangs against the door.

The Alpha on screen breathes harshly. His fist working his cock up close. Shiny with spit or synthetic slick or whatever he’s using.

_‘You gonna take my knot, baby girl?’_

“No. No, no, no.” The growling at her door’s turned soft. Almost a plea. Almost a sob.

_‘I’m gonna fuck that tight little pussy into an alternate universe.’_

“Don’t,” a whimper. “Please,” a whisper.

_‘Go ahead and spread your legs for me like my good little Omega cumslut,’_ the Alpha grunts again. Moaning loudly.

“No,” Ben howls. Wrangles the door knob. Panic lacing his voice and rendering it tight. “You’re _mine._ ”

At his words, Rey’s eyes flutter closed. Her cunt throbs and her throat gives way to a luscious, decadent moan. 

_Yes, Alpha. Yours._

The Alpha on screen starts fucking his fist. Moaning in time with his thrusts. The skin of his hand slapping against his pelvis to wash her quiet cabin in the sounds of pretend sex. It seems to do the trick on the _other_ Alpha. The one whimpering on her stoop. The one who’d wounded her pride. 

He’s lamenting loudly against her door. Scratching at the wood listlessly, like he’s given up. Occasionally the soft whimpers of “no” and “you were supposed to be mine” filtering through and over the masturbating Alpha. 

If she wasn’t so wholly satisfied with her discovery, she might have taken pity on him. Might have tried to soothe the heartache she now knows she’s _definitely_ the cause of.

But pain is a lesson and right now he’s bleeding.

_Good._

There’s a thump against her door. A forlorn cry. Then there’s silence.

They say Omegas are soft. Omegas are sweet. Omegas are pliant and malleable. That they’re forgiving and easily led by the heart.

Rey is none of those things. She may have been at one time, but she’d had to harden herself to survive.

And Ben Solo just received the sharp sting of a scorned, modern Omega.

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


“Beau?”

“Too lemony,” she licks her spoon before dipping it back into her bowl of oatmeal.

Rey feels smug. She’d slept like a baby and woken up refreshed. Her walk to the main hub had an extra pep in her step. Her nose happy to have unravelled the mystery that had been the bane of her existence for the better part of the past week.

“I had _no_ idea your noses were so complex,” Finn gawks at Poe and Rey in turn.

“That’s because you apparently missed every single biology lesson in school,” Rose tuts while snapping her overcooked strip of bacon in half.

“Okay, so Beaumont is too lemony and Snap is too peppery. I smell like leather,” Poe’s lost in thought. Since she’d agreed to their help only moments ago, he’s taking his job of pimping her heat out _very_ seriously. “And leather is nice but not great?” He clarifies.

“Yes?” Rey hesitates.

“Okay,” Poe leans over the table, “so if leather is … nice but not great, what exactly _is_ great?”

The question she’s been dreading. Because she knows exactly what great smells like. In fact, she knows exactly what _perfect_ smells like. But she’s not sure she _wants_ perfect despite last night’s epiphany.

So she shrugs instead. Feels the fluffy softness of the resort’s uniform sherpa half zip caress her arms and neck.

“Well, what did your ex smell like, then?” Finn asks curiously.

“Yeah, that’s a good starting point,” Rose chimes in to support that theory.

_Ha._ She stifles the need to roll her eyes and scoff. He smelled like burnt marshmallows and sandstorms. It wasn’t until later she’d discovered he’d smelled more like burnt ... everything. When the rosy sheen of the relationship wore off and she’d stopped convincing herself he was what she wanted. His attempt at breaking the skin of her mating gland had snapped everything into crystal clear resolution.

“Not great,” Rey relents. 

“Aha!” Poe blurts triumphantly. Like the cat that got the canary. “So if your ex didn’t smell great then you _know_ what great smells like. Otherwise he’d be the very pinnacle we’re up against.”

Her cheeks flush red. The heat of _that_ particular truth zipping through her body and warming her chest.

“Couldn’t really say. It’s just a retrospective realization,” she lies.

And just then there’s clatter in the kitchen. The stomping of feet and the dark, luscious scent of a roaring fire dripping in clove oil assails her nose.

“Leave,” the voice she’s avoiding drips ominously. It’s a rumbling threat that peels Poe’s eyes and sets him into action. He nudges Finn and nods his head at Rose. Wordlessly communicates their cue to grab their plates and head out.

Poe throws Rey an apologetic glance. One that tells her his hands are tied. And maybe, beneath the silent apology there’s a tiny fragment of understanding, because he now _knows._

So his eyes tell her they’ll talk about it later.

And just like that, she’s got nowhere to run.

Pinned in place by the heated eyes of the Alpha she’d falsely cuckolded. Kind of.

“You,” he slams his plate down in front of her. Takes his seat.

It’s the first time she’s seen him up close since they’ve started this deranged game of chicken. And she’s loathed to admit he looks terrible. Wrecked.

He’s got dark circles carved under glassy eyes. His hair is dishevelled and his fingers twitchy. There’s a split in his lip like he’d either chewed it or spent too long in the cold. Or maybe a combination of both.

“Me,” she drawls, returning his icy gaze with equal intensity.

“You … you can’t just…”

“What? Solo?” She hisses his name like it’s the bitter tea her foster father used to feed her to suppress her heats. The one that tasted like charred tree bark and bitter roots. The cheap alternative to real medicine. “I can’t just what?”

“You can’t…”

“Can’t what?” She interrupts. “Can’t live my life?”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t fucking _think_ around you.” Another admission. Eyes faltering and dropping to his plate chastened.

“Funny,” she scoffs, “looks like you can do everything else around me.”

He groans. Long and wounded. Like the chairlift when the operators start it up first thing in the morning. It’s loud and seeps into her bones. Blankets her senses and dulls the sweet orange flower she’s grown accustomed to in close proximity.

“We need to talk.” He finally rasps hesitantly.

“You’ve said that before,” she taps her spoon to her lip, recalling his impassioned snarl against her door last night.

“Fuck, that's not...” he growls, “I mean it. We need to _talk_ talk.”

Oh this is precious. Doesn’t he know hell hath no fury like an Omega scorned?

“We’re talking now.” 

“No,” he grumbles softly, “not like this. I’m exhausted and you … you … your scent is driving me insane.”

“Awww, well isn’t that just too bad,” she sneers, ignoring her Omega’s whiny voice begging for her to comfort her Alpha. “I’m on shift in 10 minutes so whatever you’ve got to say, you better get it out now, Solo.”

“No.” He repeats it like he’s convincing himself. “No. Not like this. Not when you’re angry and I haven’t slept.”

She shrugs at him. Tired of his game. Tired of him beating around the fucking bush.

For the first time since he’s sat down, he looks at her. _Really_ looks at her. No posturing, no simmering dejection. Eyes hooking hers like tenterhooks. Every emotion she’d heard and smelled swims in the red rimmed irises of his eyes. The rejection. The longing. The emasculation he doesn’t know came from a fucking video.

It softens her. Not enough to forgive, but enough to relent.

Biology has a funny way of doing that. Even if your heart is set on a course your designation can throw a wrench and foil your whole plan. She might be mad, but her Omega _yearns_ for him.

So she can give him a conversation. For science.

To keep the peace.

“Fine.” She lets the spoon clatter in her unfinished oatmeal.

“ _Fine,”_ he parrots frustrated.

He takes a few breaths. Chest rising and falling dangerously.

“After your shift?” He’s back to soft tones. A timbre that carries a hopeful undertone.

“Sure,” she shrugs indifferently. Working her hardest to suppress the thrum in her chest and her Omega’s glee. Willing her hormones to not spike at the prospect.

“Okay.” His face drops into his hands. “Thank you.”

But she’s not done twisting the knife. Her Omega might want this. Might beat against her mental defences with everything she's got, but the real Rey isn't done yet. Not by a long shot.

“No Betas?”

The Alpha groans again. The wound she’s just prodded ripping wide open for everyone with an attuned nose to scent. It crumbles her resolve and steels it equally.

“No, Rey,” he scrubs his hands over his face, “no Betas. Just me. Just you.”

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

“Hey kid.”

Ben swallows the thick knot of dread lodged in his throat. “Hey dad.” His father’s breathing crackles across the line.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ben leans back into the sofa exhausted. Eyes trained out towards the courtyard where the pool guy is hunched over his testing block. Adding drops of chemicals and swirling the container to check the colour reading. 

He nods, drops a scoop of chlorine powder straight into the pump and packs his kit to leave.

Ben thinks that it’s a good sign. That by some twisted miracle, this routine maintenance could wash away his transgressions towards _the one_. That the chlorine will bleach away the stink of failure. That maybe it represents the opportunity to start anew with his Omega.

_His_ Omega.

His fierce, angry, bold Omega who took none of his shit.

“Dad, I...” he starts, voice cracking.

“Aww shit, Ben,” his father heaves. “Hold on a minute, son.” 

Ben hears the light slap of his father’s house slippers. The hum of the fridge. The hiss of air and tinkle of a beer cap hitting the counter. “Alright, I’m ready now. What did you do?”

“N-nothing,” Ben stutters, “I just … I need advice.”

His father’s raspy laugh rattles across the line. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d come to your old man for help.”

Ben wipes his hand over his face, already regretting this call. “Don’t push it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can’t a man be proud to finally offer his son _something?”_

And just then Ben thinks reaching out to his dad had been a colossal mistake. A terrible decision made in a moment of weakness.

He’d just been so raw, so wrecked after that brief but unfiltered conversation with _her_ . For the first time in a week there was no veil of propriety. No decorum or public facade. It was the first time they’d _really_ talked. Even if her tone bathed him in pure acid.

Then again, maybe it would have all gone so _very_ differently if he hadn’t let his dick do the thinking. If he’d had the balls to just talk to her outright instead of making assumptions from the sidelines.

But he’d been a bonafide idiot and now he’s paying the ultimate price. 

Because of his knot-brained choices, wooing his Omega will be an uphill battle. None of the easy, soul drenching exhilaration of carving your imprint on an untouched slope, but the burning exhaustion of climbing it one foot at a time. 

Ben’s not aversive to putting in the work. Especially not for _her._

He’s also pretty sure that if he walks away from the resort right now, he’ll live the rest of his life grieving the loss of _that_ scent. 

What he needs to do is grasp this opportunity and do it _right_. And that requires a little insight. A little guidance and direction when his emotions are a fucking mess.

He’d needed someone who understood the dynamic between an Alpha and an Omega, even if they weren’t a perfect match. Someone who understood the turbulent push and pull, the clashing of designations.

“Well, I doubt you called about cars,” his father rumbles good naturedly, “and we both know I ain’t got shit to offer in terms of career advice. You’d be calling your mother for that. So, what is it? You wanna learn how to cheat at poker? Got yourself a girl?”

There’s a brief pause. A few heavy gulps on the line as his father pounds back his beer. “Aww shit, did you knock someone up?”

“Wh— no! No. But … there _is_ someone and ... _fuck_ dad, I don’t know what to do.”

“Jesus,” his dad snorts, “I’ve never heard you sound so pitiful.” A beat. “Omega?”

“Yeah.” He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales sharply through his nose. Ready to hear some snide remark about Han finally witnessing hell freeze over.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Calling his father. His dad’s not your average Omega. Male Omegas in general weren’t common, much like female Alphas. But on top of being a rarity, his father also happens to be the most stubborn Omega Ben knows.

Correction. _Knew._

Because he knows one more now.

One who smells like the perfect treat on a hot summer day. Who smells as rich and lush and decadent as frozen almond cream. One whose anger stirred the very marrow of his bones and made his dick twitch like a presenting teen whose olfactory epithelium had just awoken.

His father is not only stubborn, but breaks the Omega stereotype entirely. 

He’s a mechanic. Guzzles beer like water and the closest thing he does to nesting is hoarding junk in the garage. He’s not a home body and he’s most _definitely_ not soft or sweet like they say Omegas are. Definitely not the pliant type that forgives easily and lets himself be led by his heart.

No. His father is, in short, an Omega with more Alpha tendencies than some Alphas themselves.

And _that_ reminded him of a certain someone he’d like to start over with.

So asking his dad for advice had _seemed_ like a reasonable course of action. At the time. 

He’s not so sure now.

“Congrats.”

“It’s … not like that.” Ben groans dejectedly. 

“Oh shit. Inherited your dad’s ability to stick your foot in your mouth, did ya?”

Ben nods. Frustrated. At the end of his rope. 

_How. HOW?_ How is he going to get through a conversation with _her_? How is he going to manage apologizing, putting himself out there, and soothing her anger all at once? How is he going to manage to communicate his regret while being assaulted by the angelic scent of perfection?

“Alright,” his father sighs. There’s the creaking of a chair, probably his recliner. “You wanna start from the beginning or gimme the broad strokes? Or do you just want me to tell you what an Omega needs to hear?” There’s a pause, more gulping. A satisfied _aah._ “Because I can promise you, I’m the _worst_ Omega to seek advice from.”

“Actually,” Ben gnaws at his cracked lip, the one he’d gotten by pacing the woods in the dead of night. Prowling like a wounded animal with no direction. The hurt of rejection clawing at his chest. A bone-deep pain of loss even the cold couldn’t numb. “She’s a lot like you.”

“Ha, musta inherited the taste for feisty Omega from your mom, then.”

“Dad.”

“Sorry. Force of habit. Now … tell me about her. Only what you want. No pressure. I’m here for you, son.”

Ben takes a deep breath in. 

Reminds himself of what’s on the line.

That he’s found his one in 7 billion, against all odds. That he’s fucked up and needs to hit the reset. That despite how much last night hurt, she’d been well in her right to drag his soul through the mud.

That perfection is standing on the very top of the mountain, and all he needs to do is pull up his bootstraps and climb. 

With a long heaving sigh, he starts. “I met her a week ago, and she smells like nothing you can imagine…”

They say Alphas are aggressive. Alphas take what they want. Alphas are domineering and brash. That they’re possessive and do a shit job expressing their emotions.

Ben might be all of those things. But for her, he’ll change course. He’ll pay penance at her feet.

Ben Solo is more than willing to submit to his Omega.

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


He’d dozed after his long chat with his father.

Han had a _lot_ to say. Most of it circled around the phrase ‘you fucked up big’ but it wasn’t anything Ben didn’t know. In fact, hearing it from his father helped soothe the sting.

There’s something about hearing your mistakes reflected back that makes them seem less insurmountable and more like roadbumps. 

When you catastrophize the severity of your situation, it can become potent enough to blanket your senses like an avalanche. Rumination can have a snowball effect. But having the words repeated, halves their weight. The light tone of his father halved it further until Ben had begun nodding along emphatically, convinced that _yes_ he could do this. _Yes_ it’s not hopeless.

_No_ he won’t be that random outlier scientists pour over long after he’s dead. Of the perfect pair that didn’t work out.

Yeah, he’d fucked up. But she’s no saint either. 

According to Han, who’d already taken to calling her his future daughter-in-law, his fireball Omega had a mean streak. It was the only logical explanation as to why she’d continued her conquest with Dameron despite knowing he’d been on the other side of the door.

Even if it stung to rehash that wound, his father made it perfectly clear that her response came from a place of wounded pride. And at that he’d felt a tiny bit of vindication at knowing he hadn’t misread their chemistry.

After he’d promised he’d keep his dad in the loop and swearing him to secrecy, he’d hung up and … dozed. He doesn’t feel like he’s slept, but apparently he did. Sitting right there on his sofa.

Knows this for a fact because he’s startled awake by an insistent rapping at his door. 

He immediately jumps to his feet. Frazzled and unsure what time it is. If he’s missed the opportunity to talk to Rey.

The grey light in the courtyard tells him it’s still daytime but the cast tells him it’s some time after noon. Too early for her shift to have ended, but later than it had been when he’d talked to Han.

The offending knuckles rap at the door again and for a split second, his heart leaps in his chest thinking it’s Rey.

But there’s no scent.

He groans and trudges to pry it open. Ready to put on his best rendition of illness (which, granted wouldn’t be too hard right now) in case it’s Holdo. 

When he opens the door, his Alpha boils to the surface snarling.

There, on his front porch, stands the Alpha who’d taken everything away from him. Decked out in his obnoxiously bright orange ski suit with his instructor vest hanging loosely around his neck, holding a tray of sandwiches and Gatorade. Grinning like the cat that got the canary.

“Before you leap out here to kill me,” Poe pushes the tray forward while his body leans back, “nothing happened. And I know you jizzed all over her door. Solid move, bro.”

Ben gnashes his teeth, growls under his breath. Then, when the first breath of crisp mountain air rushes into his lungs he relaxes immediately. Visibly so.

Because right there, tickling his nose and bathing his olfactory epithelium, is a distinct lack of a scent that would normally stick. A scent that would linger. A scent his suppressants can do nothing about.

All he can smell is the crisp, cold air and the light, subdued scent of the other Alpha’s musk.

Dameron’s not lying and _that_ for some reason, feels like a true victory.

Like all the purity of freshly fallen snow glittering in the early morning light. It feels like the first glimpse of an untouched run, ready to be claimed, scarred, carved with his own board. Like coming home to shed your gear and snuggle in front of a fire with everything you hold dear.

It’s a ridiculously tiny win but it makes his chest swell with pride.

“Good,” Poe grins again, pushes past him into his cabin, “glad we got that out of the way. I brought you lunch. By the way, you look like shit.”

Ben’s standing in the door, hand still on the knob staring blankly at the Alpha that’s just sent his emotions into a tailspin and invaded his space ever so casually. That very same Alpha drags one of the 2 remaining chairs, scraping against the floor and plops down at his table. Rips into an egg salad sandwich with gusto.

“You just gonna stand there? Or you gonna come eat? I’ve got a group lesson in an hour,” Poe cajoles around a mouthful of sandwich.

Ben’s many things. Stupid, is not one of them.

He’s had the same vanilla chitchat with Poe that he’s had with Rey. Enough to be considered congenial, not enough to be considered ‘let’s have lunch’ friendly. So there’s something afoot. 

A plot. A scheme.

“What do you want, Dameron,” he furrows his brow and, skeptically, closes the door. Takes a seat opposite his maybe acquaintance turned rival turned maybe acquaintance again.

“Stop posturing,” Poe chews loudly, swallows even louder, “can’t I have lunch with a friend?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Oh, we’ve got a comedian over here,” Poe wags his finger with a laugh, “I think after lunch you’ll be signing a different tune.”

Ben scoffs. “And what makes you say that?”

Poe leans back, half eaten sandwich hovering. A shit eating grin blooming on his face. His brows rise teasingly. “Rey.”

Ben bows his head in acquiescence. “I’m listening.”

“That’s what I thought,” Poe pushes the other sandwich at him, “didn’t know what you went for so I got you the roast turkey with provolone and cranberry sauce. Sorry if Thanksgiving ain’t your palette.”

He won’t admit it, but that is a damn good choice. Instead, he picks it up and takes a bite, eyeing the smug Alpha warily.

“Jesus Christ Solo, will you _stop_ posturing already?” Poe’s whining like a scorned child. Throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “I’m not nose deaf. I know you’re knot-brained for Johnson. You basically painted her door in an effort to keep everyone out. I get it man, message received loud and clear.”

“Then … why are you here?”

“Well, _my boyfriend_ Finn and I were talking,” Poe begins mauling his sandwich again, “and we’re both convinced she’s into you.”

Ben’s not grinning. He’s not. He’s _not._

But he might shrug and he might preen. Just a little.

“What we can’t figure out is why she’s so prickly about you.”

Well, he’s not going to dignify _that_ with an answer. So he leans back and focuses on eating his sandwich methodically. _Still_ posturing despite his attempts at suppressing his skepticism.

“So you see, I did a little bit of thinking with this ol’ noggin,” Poe taps his temple, “and I’ve come to the realization it can only be one of 2 things. Either you two have history or you’ve wounded her Omega pride.”

Ben scowls. Somehow the cranberry sauce has turned bitter in his mouth.

“Now, based on the fact that she doesn’t stink like sex and neither do you,” Poe barrels on unperturbed, “I’m _preeeeeetty_ sure you’ve pissed her off. And I’m no designation psychologist, but I’ve got this niggling feeling it might have something to do with that Beta you were in the hot tub with last night.”

Ben’s pretty sure his scowl’s deepened.

“I’m on the right track, aren’t I?”

He doesn’t respond. This, _all of this_ , is no one’s business but their own. And if tonight’s conversation doesn’t pan out, he’d rather not have the whole world know that he, Ben Solo, failed to woo his perfect mate.

“I _knew_ it!”

“I didn’t admit to anything.”

Poe grins, smug as fuck. “Didn’t need to. Silence is just as much an admission of guilt as denial.”  
  
“That doesn’t even…”

Poe stops him by raising his hand. “Here’s what else I know,” he leans forward conspiratorially, “she’s got a heat coming up and, because we’re friends, I’d like to help you rise to the top of her suitor list.”

Ben balks. “There’s a suitor list?” His question comes out more of a growl. Menacing.

“I _KNEW it!”_ Poe’s palm slaps the table. “The nose knows, bro. I fucking _knew_ you two wanted to do the horizontal mambo. All the suppressants in the world couldn’t dull the way she reacts to you. If she’s usually a nice waft of almonds, the minute you showed up was like sticking my face in the bag.” He makes an explosive gesture into his face with his hand.

_What the hell does that mean?_

“Listen,” Poe continues, “we were talking this morning before you so _rudely_ interrupted. I was trying to get her preferred scent profile. Turns out, her ex didn’t smell great.”

Ben feels the coarse skitter of anger claw down his back. Feels his chest rumble.

“You know what that means?”

“No.” He’s back to growling.

“God you’re dense. It means she knows what great _does_ smell like. And you know what else?” Poe takes a moment for a dramatic pause, licking his fingers like he’s on the verge of throwing a chef’s kiss. “Judging by how she reacted towards you, I’d bet my knot that _great_ … is _you_.”

Poe taps his fingers on the table. Like he’s just unravelled a great mystery.

There’s a lot to unravel. A lot that’s been said in the short amount of time they’ve sat at the rickety table. But the phrases ringing in Ben’s ear, ‘she’s into you’ and ‘great is you’ stroke the tattered shreds of hope he’s been fostering.

“Fine,” Ben grunts. Poe is giving him the opportunity, the _chance_ to have what he wants. Needs. But in order to solicit the Alpha’s help he’ll need to offer something in return. “ _Fine._ Yes. Her scent drives me wild.”

Poe snorts. “Don’t be a drama queen Solo. You don’t have to sell it to me. I get she smells great but _wild?”_

Ben shakes his head. Poe’s got it wrong. _So_ wrong. Wild barely encompasses what he feels for her. How she affects him. “I’m serious. She doesn’t smell _just_ great. She smells perfect.”

Poe laughs a little too hard. Wiping tears out of his eyes. “Sounds to me like someone’s been skipping his doses to perform better on the slopes.”

“I’m not even competing!”

“But you _are_ used to lower doses.”

Ben sighs, frustrated. “No, Dameron, I’m on the same shit everyone’s on,” might as well come clean, “the suppressants don’t work on her.”

He lets the pin drop. Waits as Poe works through the revelation. It takes a moment. Enough time for Ben to finish the sandwich he won’t admit hit the spot. Enough time for him to crack the lid on the glacier cherry gatorade and chug down half.

When the weight of his words clicks, the Alpha across from him balks. Eyes popping out of his head. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Ben worries his lip between his teeth, “wish I was, believe me. But it’s true.”

“Y-you found _the one?”_

“Found isn’t really the word I’d use for it…”

“Holy shit! That’s like a … a … a one in how many fucking people exist on earth? Congratulatio— oooh no. Oh fuck! And then you...”

“Yeah,” Ben leans back into his chair, glad he doesn’t have to spell out the rest of the story to Poe, “yeah. And I fucked it up.”

Poe does the worst possible thing Ben can think of. He pushes out of his chair and rounds the table. Stoops down to Ben and wraps him in a bear hug. “Still man, that’s some great news.”

He feels the Alpha pat his back. Watches him pull away and his face contort into a sheepish grin. “Listen, I originally came to troll you a bit. Y’know. Nothing personal Finn and I just thought it was funny. We trolled her earlier too. Figured we could harass you two into bed but … you _have_ to tell me everything.”

“Why?” Ben grouses, “so you can know what _not_ to do?”

“No man, so I can help you fix it.”

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


For the second time today, he’d told someone everything. 

For the second time today, he’d felt a pleasant sort of anticipation.

Sharing his burden, receiving _insights_ had helped dull the throb of failure significantly. 

By the time Poe walked out with a smug grin and a ‘get some sleep Solo, or you’ll put your foot in your mouth again’, Ben felt like maybe the term friend wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.

So he’d slept as per doctor’s orders.

And when he’d woken up it had gotten dark so he’d panicked. Run to the hotel lobby at top speed to wait for Rey.

This time, he tucked himself into the employees only alcove, pretending to mull over the schedule while shifts changed around him. 

Fellow employees nodded, waved. Punched in, punched out. By the time the shift change was complete, he hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of Rey. So he’d steeled his resolve and walked into the staff lounge for the first time since he’d arrived. 

If he’d missed her punch out, that’s for sure where she’d be.

Ben hadn’t planned on making his apology a public display. But if that’s what his Omega wanted, that’s what his Omega would get. He wasn’t above it. Even if his Alpha grumbled.

He’d been greeted graciously enough. Was handed a beer by one of the tamer dayshift Omegas, Kaydel, who doles out lift passes. She’d started complimenting his technique right off the bat and _that_ opened a great big pit of anxiety in his stomach.

He’d already fucked up. Twice. A third, with an Omega to boot, would surely seal his fate and flush whatever remnants of hope he’d been fostering right down the drain.

Luckily, Dameron swooped in to save him. Pulled him aside and told him that Rey had punched out early. That she’d headed back to their cabins so if his plan had been to try his hand at a third failure, he’d been shit out of luck. 

From there the conversation turned into a pep talk of sorts. Both Alphas hopeful she’d be responsive based on her eager punch out and determination to head back. 

Poe had told him she’d been tight lipped about him at the rental counter, but that she’d rolled her eyes when he’d suggested Ben as a heat partner. He’d also mentioned he didn’t miss the brief smile on her lips.

And that’s how Ben finds himself walking back to the cabins. The pleasant warmth of his one beer sloshing in his belly and the snow crunching under his boots. Nervous with anticipation but hopeful nonetheless.

He goes over Poe’s talking points. His father’s. His own. Plays out different scenarios. 

Should he open up with the apology right off the bat like Poe suggested? Or let her talk first like his father had? His own idea had been to throw himself at her feet but that seems a little extreme now that he’s a little more clear headed.

He’s so consumed with the scenarios zipping through his head he almost misses it. Almost misses the way roasted pistachios tickle his nose. The way warm vanilla trickles through his veins and warms his chest. Almost misses the glimpse of _the one_ submerged in the hot tub from between the firs.

Since he’d started at the Hoth, the outdoor hot tub sat mostly unused. Too far from everyone else to become a hangout. A hidden gem he’d thought was his alone, tucked between the evergreens behind their small cluster of cabins.

He’d even come to associate the hot tub with his own personal space. 

An outdoor extension of his Alpha den. His and his alone.

Tonight is the first night he’s seen another person use it.

And it’s fitting that it be _her._ The Omega that makes his knees buckle.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he trudges through the heaped snow to the iron gate. Lets it creak open. Lets it announce his presence.

She’s submersed in the clean water. Arms draped over the lip. A queenly spread that spans the edge of the tub. That claims the spa and its surroundings as her turf. Her hair piled high into a silky bun. Sculpted, sinewy muscles shining wetly under the moonlight while the tub steams around her body.

Her bathing suit is one he’d normally scoff at. He’s used to prim women in high end bikinis. Bedazzled with choice cutouts. Tiny strips of fabric with easy pulls.

_She_ is wearing a clean black one piece. The neckline has a modest dip that terminates in a knot between her breasts. The remainder woefully out of view beneath the rolling water but he assumes it’s not high cut or brazillian. Assumes there’s no cutouts or jewels. No accents. Just like her, her swim attire is simple yet striking.

She’s set her sight on him. Scowls but with less venom than at breakfast. Watches him approach. Eyes him as he enters the lionesse’s den like a skittish mouse.

So he gives her a sheepish smile in return. Toes his way towards the tub and squats low to run his fingers through the water. Careful. Using his nose to sniff out her mood — neutral.

“May I join you?”

“No,” she purses her lips and huffs to blow a stray hair out of her face, “you wanted to talk, you can talk from there.”

“Okay.” Ben plunks down onto the cold concrete. If the old wives tale is true, he’d gladly subject himself to a case of hemorrhoids if it means setting the record straight with his Omega. So he sits and waits for her like his father had suggested. Picks at the lint on his sweatpants and tries to quiet his thundering heart.

“I thought you wanted to talk?” She sounds frustrated, but it’s quiet. Soft even. Her scent gives him the impression she’s feeling anxious, an emotion he too must reek of.

“I do,” he bobs his head, “I … I wanted to apologize for, umm … fuck. For everything.”

They sit quietly. Watching. Waiting. A cold wind whips through the courtyard and she sinks further into the water.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she finally sighs. Her voice even. Hypnotic.

“Rey,” he starts exasperated, “yes there is. What I did wasn’t right.”  
  
“No,” she agrees, “it wasn’t.”

Ben suppresses a groan. He needs to steer this conversation in a better direction. Needs to put himself out there but it’s _hard_. It’s so fucking _hard_ for an Alpha to submit. Every bone in his body revolts. Even if those very same bones yearn for her.

“But you don’t owe me anything. Just as I don’t owe _you_ anything.”

“And yet you were upset,” he interjects before he’s had a chance to reel himself in. She’s downplaying her emotions and what she means to him. What she represents. What they _are._

Does that mean she doesn’t know?

“Listen,” he tries again, a little more boldly, “I know it’s not an excuse but your scent drives me absolutely crazy…”

“That’s because you’re _obviously_ refusing to use suppressants!” Her accusation cuts him off.

So she _definitely_ doesn’t know. How is that possible? Did she miss the essential education on designations when she presented?

“Rey, suppressants are mandatory. I _am_ taking them. The same ones as Dameron and all the other Alphas on staff. Dosed specifically for me. 10mg daily. I’m pretty sure that’s the fucking max.”

“That’s impossible,” she blusters. “Y-you can’t be on them and smell like,” her hands rise above the water, flail desperately, “ _that_ . Your scent is impossibly strong. It’s so _hard_ to think around you. And my Omega! She’s punch fucking drunk around you. Don’t lie to sell your pitiful narrative.”

“I’m not lying, I promise.” He soothes. Watches her face contort into confusion and surprise. Maybe even a little terror. 

“I know you won’t believe much of what comes out of my mouth, and I deserve it. But I need you to know some things.”

He locks onto her eyes and wills his heart to still. Wills the words out of his mouth. It’s now or never so it’s time to rip off the bandaid. His Alpha pride takes the stage, puffs up and delivers his address. 

“Firstly, I’ll let you research what suppressant resistant scents mean. If I told you now, you wouldn’t believe me. Secondly, I want you to know that everything I’ve done, and I won’t deny it was asinine, was because I was trying to get _you_ out of my head. I’m not saying it was right. I’m not even trying to excuse it. But I want you to know none of it was meant to slight you. So in light of all that, if … if you can find it in you, I’d,” he braced himself for the final nail in the coffin, clears his throat and straightens his shoulders even if he feels the weight of the world crushing his shoulders, “I’d like to start over. Let me court you properly.”

She snorts. Rolls her eyes. Mumbles “yeah right,” quietly.

She’s not meeting his eye anymore. Focuses on something off in the distance. Her face to him in profile. Her nostrils are flaring, her eyes piercing and he should probably get up and go.

He’s said his piece. Both Dameron and his father had suggested he keep it short and sweet and to the point. He’s accomplished that. Now she needs time to think.

And he’s more than willing to give her all the time she needs.

“I’ll let you be,” he murmurs softly. Takes one last lungful of sweet air before he sequesters himself to his cabin to jerk off. He’s pretty sure he broke his fleshlight last night but he’ll figure something out.

He moves to stand. Knees popping, tailbone frozen. But none of that matters because there’s a warmth in the air. The blooming of vanilla drizzled over gooey almond cream and topped with crushed pistachios. It’s earthy and sweet and utterly perfect.

If he walks away, he’ll walk away knowing she’s at least marginally happier than this morning. So that counts for something.

“Scent me.” It’s a whisper. Barely audible over the bubbling water.

Did he just hear that right?

“Pardon?”

“I said, scent me,” she hisses. A command accompanied by a waft of toasted pistachios.

“You,” he tucks his chin and points at his own chest confused, “want me to scent you.”

“Did I stutter?”

Ben dips his head in acquiescence. Omegas can’t command, but she’s trying and that stirs the warmth in his heart. His affection for this fierce specimen that smells like heaven.

“If you want to ‘court me’,” she throws air quotes in for good measure, “prove to me you’re serious. Scent me.”

It’s a bit crude, but alright. Scenting isn’t necessarily something done in higher society. At least not the circles Ben’s found himself in. It’s usually frowned upon. An archaic form of marking someone as your own. They teach it, of course, but mostly as the history component to designation courtship. 

These days, it’s rarely used.

Between suppressants and etiquette, it’s fallen largely out of favour. Mostly used between mated pairs to soothe nerves. Used on pups to imprint and put them to sleep. The only spheres it’s still used in consistently are the impoverished communities where suppressants can’t be afforded and designation education is slim.

There’s different ways to go about it, too. There’s the most potent form — sex. That one lasts longest.

Then there’s lighter versions. The licking of a scent gland, swiping a finger over the residue and patting it on pulse points like perfume. Rubbing the scent glands on your wrists against those on their neck.

He’d _like_ to scent her in the most ancient way. With his cock and his teeth. With the sweat from his body pressed against hers while his knot pulses ropes of his cum into her womb. But he’s just gotten a glimpse of possibility. He won’t fuck that up by being too forward. Too brash. 

So, wrists it is.

And then, an idea…

“Okay,” he fights to suppress the smile threatening to split his face, “on one condition—”

“Oh you don’t get to…”

“You scent me back. I think it’s only fair?”

If he wasn’t so wholly tuned into her, he might have missed it. The shimmering ghost of happiness. The way her aura pulses and glows. 

“Fine.” There’s a suppressed smile of her own. He’s pretty fucking sure.

“Okay,” and this time he smiles for real. Rounds to her side of the tub and kneels.

It’s the first time he’s been this close to her. The first time he can see her freckles intimately and of course, with the way her scent envelops him, his dick twitches.

But he ignores it. Rubs his wrists together to stimulate the glands. Until they’re warm and a little damp. Until his pheromones are flowing and the red of the glands has gained a wet gleam. Holds them out as an offering.

She responds by tilting her head and offering the slope of her neck to him. From this close he sees how her scent glands have taken a cherry red tone, are weeping. How her mating gland’s a little swollen and equally angry. 

If he licks his lips as he massages his wrist against her gland, it’s because the scent of arousal bursts like a fine rain of fresh snow. It’s because he hears the low moan she releases.

He repeats the action on her other side. Silently. Ignoring his Alpha’s insistence he drag her out of the tub and into his den to knot her. 

When he finishes, releasing a stuttered breath, he sits back on his haunches and waits.

Waits for her to rise out of the water. For her to lean over the lip of the tub and scent him in return.

Her wrists are warm. The vanilla, bright. He closes his eyes and commits the moment to memory. 

He wants to turn his head and swipe his tongue over her wrist. Wants just a single taste of the forbidden fruit he’s working on earning. But instead he lets their scents mingle. Lets the scent of her soothe his frazzled nerves with the efficiency of one of his mother’s ativan pills. 

“It was a video,” her voice is husky. Low. An admission as pained as his own. “Last night, what you heard. I … it was a video.”

He doesn’t mean to reach out. Doesn’t mean to grasp her forearm and gently wrap his fingers around it, hold it in place. Doesn’t mean to turn his head and cradle his cheek into her palm. But he does it anyway. 

And she doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t care,” he rasps, “as long as we can start over.”

Ben’s never been a religious guy. He’s always been one to believe in science rather than miraculous hocus pocus bullshit. But right there, on his knees in the furthest tuft of staff cabins at his mother’s mountain resort, he feels the gates of heaven open. He feels his future sprawl out before him, solid and clear.

He’s not sure how he gets back to his cabin. 

The moment her palm touched his cheek he’d soared into the clouds and remained there. Every step felt light as air. Every inhale held a reassuring mix of her scent with his. 

For the first time since he’d caught whiff of her on that fateful morning, he feels calm. Unnaturally so.

He remembers her sheepishly asking for his shirt. A request he’d stripped his jacket and hoodie off for in a heartbeat. Stood topless in the cold without feeling the bite of the wind.

He remembers their shared smiles. Small and private and laced with promises. 

He remembers glancing back at her prone body in the hot tub. Smiling serenely at the sky full of stars. 

He remembers throwing himself into his bed with a radiant warmth in his chest.

He remembers texting Dameron to ask if the shops were still open.

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

She’d had every intention of making it painful for him. Of telling him to go fuck himself. 

Sure, he smelled fantastic and by extension set her Omega swooning, but he’d been a dick. 

And to top it off, it had become glaringly clear he’d known there was chemistry yet decided to quench his thirst elsewhere. What kind of idiot does that? What kind of idiot thinks that a Beta could ever compare to an Omega you have chemistry with?

Not only was he a dick, but a dumbass to boot.

If his strong Alpha build and thick fingers and gorgeous hair and plush lips were the stuff of dreams, his asinine behaviour told her he had the mental fortitude of a fucking panda. 

He’s a thick-witted, birdbrained knot-head. A lump of coal in a beautiful package.

Her Omega hindbrain, of course, was quick to explain his behaviour away. Making excuses and blaming herself for not jumping into his lap the second she’d felt attracted. Calling him _her_ Alpha.

But ancient biology aside, that’s not how you behave when you’re interested in someone.

And she would _know_. She’d been assaulted by his unsuppressed scent for the better part of a week and she _still_ managed to behave at least marginally normal.

So she’d agreed to their conversation more out of embarrassment than anything else. He’d made a scene shooing off her friends. Filled the kitchen with the stink of his pitiful, sad Alpha. 

She’d agreed because she had at least an ounce of good sense and didn’t want to subject the others to his ridiculous scent and display. The others who didn’t seem the least bit offended by his stink.

And yeah, maybe she was also curious to see how things would go. She might have made up her mind about him, but it’s hard to deny the magnetism of his scent. So one conversation to keep the peace won’t hurt anyone. Right?

Poe had swung by the rental booth to help a kid into rentals later that afternoon. Covertly thrown Ben’s name in the hat for a heat partner with a shit eating grin. Like he knew something but didn’t bother elaborating. And even if her Omega was screeching with the delight of approval, she’d schooled her expression and rolled her eyes. Told Dameron she’s not into him.

Because she’s not. She’s _not._

So she’d left early, eager to get this over with and tell him to fuck off permanently. 

She’d even chosen the hot tub to confront him in. The site of his conquests.

She’d convinced herself it was an act of domination. That she’s asserting herself. That she’s meeting his Alpha head on and _will_ come out queen supreme.

Fuck that Alphas and his wiles. Fuck him and his soft eyes and fuck me scent and his inability to think with his head (the _right_ head) and see what could have been. How well she could take him. How good she could make him feel. How this could’ve been _their_ space if he hadn’t contaminated it by thinking with his dick.

She’d be reclaiming her space, that’s all. Not him. Infusing her pheromones into the water and surroundings for everyone to know that this is _her_ space. To make him _suffer._

She’d almost considered peeing around the perimeter but quickly thought better of that baser urge.

So she’d donned her bathing suit and waited for the Alpha. Ready to hear some half hearted excuse or proposition for a threesome. Ready to take him on pound for pound. Accomplished Olympian, prized show pony, whatever. She’s dealt with worse. Rey wasn’t afraid of putting him in his place.

What she hadn’t expected was for him to be polite. Hadn’t expected him to be so wholly chastened and nervous. 

If she’d caught a glimpse of humility and decency in Poe last night, she was getting a full dose of it from Ben.

An unfiltered softness she didn’t know an Alpha could have. Not the hard edges of forceful domination but a pliancy she could only liken to pillows. Yielding and flexible.

The entirety of which came from Ben.

Ben, who’d accepted her harsh rebut to his request of joining her stoically. Who’d obediently sat on the cold concrete slabs without a single complaint. Who’d started picking the lint off his sweatpants, all remorse and humiliation.

Ben who’d spoken in soft tones and surprised her with the knowledge that he _is_ in fact, taking suppressants. Who’d encouraged her to research suppressant resistant scents and basically called himself an idiot. Who’d assured her that none of his actions were meant to hurt her. That they were misguided and idiotic without trying to justify his actions. Without trying to shift blame. He’d accepted the entirety of the blame without hesitation.

And she _could_ read between the lines. If their suppressants didn’t work on his scent that means they also didn’t work on hers. Understood that as much as he drove her crazy, perhaps she drove him crazy too.

So she’d softened just a touch. Knowing that he’d done what he’d done as a last resort. That if his displays had managed to wound her, the video stint last night had wounded him equally.

He hadn’t tried to linger. Hadn’t tried to sweep her out of the tub to carry her into his cabin like a caveman. A surprising show of control from an Alpha that smelled like sin. Even if she could practically smell the scent of her own slick oozing into the tub.

When she’d asked him to scent her, he did so without question.

It had been a spur of the moment decision. She’d asked for 2 reasons, mainly. 

The first, because she wanted to see how far she could push him. Just _when_ his Alpha would boil to the surface and the brashness would take over. To find the line and push him over it, for his Alpha to roar and claim enough is enough.

The second was selfish. She’d been on edge since she’d caught whiff of him. Maybe if he scented her she’d finally get a chance to relax.

Except the dominant Alpha never surfaced, and boy did his scenting calm her. 

She hadn’t felt this peaceful … well, ever.

She’d been calm enough to admit to the video. Calm enough to smile when he’d forgiven it without a single shred of the Alpha rage she’d grown so used to in her past. Maybe her heart skipped a beat when he’d cradled his cheek into her palm.

It was hard not to. The display so wholesome and pure. So full of longing.

And maybe that same palm continued to tingle long after he’d given her his shirt and torn himself away.

Maybe it continued to tingle as she sat boneless in the tub. Giddy with excitement. Hopeful for a future that stretched before her, solid and clear.

Continued to tingle as she trekked back to her cabin but not before depositing her used towel on a muskoka chair on Ben’s porch. 

Tingled long after she’d showered. Long after she’d snuggled into his tee, surrounded by his scent with her laptop perched on her knees to research in bed.

As she consumed articles by the boatload until she’d come to see just how heavy his words really were. The weight of reality almost stifling.

The science was scant. Suppressant brands apologetic. But the undeniable truth was that suppressant resistant scents only meant one thing.

_The one._

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


The light blue wash of dawn is the first thing she notices when she wakes up. Surrounded by the reassuring scent of Alpha and her cozy nest of blankets.

And she’s only awake this early in the morning because a light rap at her door tickled her ear. The scent of fresh orange flower blossoms seeping into her cabin, coaxing her awake with the sweetest pull.

Ben.

She gets up, groggy. Pads her way to the door. Not caring that her thighs are slick soaked. Or that she’s only wearing his tee shirt. Or that her hair closely resembles a rat’s nest the way it always does in the morning.

She finds that she’s smiling. The same goofy grin she hadn’t been able to wipe off her face since last night, had lingered. Stuck. Permanently fixed itself on her face.

When she opens the door there’s no Alpha but there _is_ a package. Big, but light.

Craning her head she looks around to find no one in the vicinity. Only the waft of orange blossom with undertones of firewood and clove oil, all laced in masculine vanilla. Large footprints in the fresh dusting of snow.

She picks up the box and places it on her table. Opens it to find an entire slope ensemble. A fleecy grey hoodie, a creamy white matching overall and jacket set, thermal leggings, a brand new pair of flexible but sturdy boarding boots. A creamy beanie, a pair of waterproof gloves and goggles. Tying it all together, the same succulent orange blossom that she’s starting to associate with his happiness … Beneath it all, a card.

An invitation to meet at the top of the mountain in front of the blue run.

Rey’s many things. Stupid, is not one of them.

She’s dated enough to recognize a courting gift when she sees one. Enough to recognize these gifts aren’t just a simple act of giving, but an offering of his scent. Funny, for a guy who’s eyes bugged out of his head when she’d suggested scenting, he’s taken to it like a fish takes to water.

Technically, she hadn’t agreed to be courted. But she’s been itching to get on the slopes and _had_ been saving to buy equipment. A difficult endeavour when you’re also budgeting to start a new life at the end of the season.

She could borrow the board and bindings from the rental shop no problem, but there are things you need of your own. Pants, boots, goggles. 

The only items she’d purchased were her bomber jacket and a pair of decently warm snow boots from a second hand shop. Neither particularly built for boarding. 

Excitement skitters across her skin, and with it, a sense of dread. Because if she accepts his invitation and his gifts, that means she’ll be boarding next to an Olympian.

Her, Rey Johnson. Native to Jakku and its desert landscape. With its hot winters and hotter summers. She’d snowboarded all of twice in her life, on school trips when she’d managed to sell her plea extra hard to her foster father. Her only on-board experience otherwise being dune boarding on ancient and ill fitted boards.

And yet, can she deny him this?

He’d been polite enough. Accommodating enough. 

He’d been so, _so_ hopeful and that made him look nothing short of a lovable little pup. This giant brooding Alpha with soft eyes who’d first annoyed her, then soothed her, and is now trying to court her.

There is, of course, also the allure of his scent wafting out of the box. 

So without thinking herself into a headache, she pulls out his offering and gets ready in no time flat. Brushes her teeth while she brushes her hair with the hoodie pulled halfway over his tee and her uniform sprawled on the bed. 

Practically runs to the lift after dropping her backpack off in the employee alcove.

She throws Snap a shy smile as she wiggles into a quad alone. Heart thrumming faster with each foot the chair travels up the cable. 

It’s not anxiousness she feels, but anticipation. A twitchy sort of giddiness that makes warmth spread through her veins despite the crisp, cold morning air.

She convinces herself it’s because she’ll get to board. That she’ll get to, for the first time since arriving, not only test the slopes at the Hoth but also get to experience the satisfaction of leaving her prints on an untouched run.

Once she jumps off the lift, she doesn’t need to glance at the direction map. Doesn’t need to figure out what slope is which colour. 

She follows her nose.

Because there, in the crisp morning air that smells of freshness and pine, is the potent scent of a crackling fire dripping with clove oil. The warm, beckoning of vanilla. The sweet hopefulness of orange blossom. All reaching their fingers towards her, drawing her in. An invisible string guiding her down her destined path.

He’s sitting at the top of the blue trail. A shock of all black against the pristine white snow. Two boards jut out of the snow beside him. One pitch black with the icy blue flat outline of an alpine peak, the other shorter, a standard black Burton she recognizes from the shop.

“You came,” he doesn’t turn his head, but she can feel his smile. Can feel hope bloom in the dry mountain air.

“I did,” she breathes. Snow crunching under her brand new boots as she approaches her Alpha.

Because that’s what he is, _hers._

She plops down beside him in the snow. Feeling the pleasant coolness under her butt without the full brunt of the cold. 

“Looks good on you.” He warbles. His tone nervous and tight. 

It’s quiet up here on the summit this early in the morning. Nothing but the white gleam of snow and the warm rays of first light. The invigorating breeze as it swoops over the peak and down the slope towards the hotel. 

A few tiny dots move to and fro at the base. Employees skittering about to get ready for a busy day. The occasional crunch and squeak of snow beneath their shifting bodies.

“Thank you, by the way,” he stammers. Eyes fixed forward down the gentle slope of the blue trail.

She’s overcome with the need to reach out and take his hand. To clasp fingers and soothe his anxiety.

But his nervous energy is nothing short of infectious, and her anxiety rises in response. So Rey doesn’t do any of that. 

Instead, she stretches her legs out in front and yawns. “For coming?”

“That,” he nods lazily. “And the towel. And the, uh,” his gloved hand reaches up to gesture at his neck, “the scenting.”

“Just returning the favour,” she murmurs, “thanks for all this.” Her hands sweep down her body, up towards the boards then the trail.

He continues nodding, chewing his lip. Eyes still fixed on the slope like he’s avoiding direct eye contact. “Did you … did you research?”

“I did,” her admission is a whisper, “yeah.”

“And?”

It’s the first time he turns to her. The first time their eyes lock. He looks relaxed. Serene. His eyes expectant. The depth of his longing piercing her through and shattering her barriers. 

Here’s an Alpha, a prime specimen, being anything but the archetype. He’s reserved, folded into himself, shy even. Displaying a level of patience and control unnatural to his designation.

The emotions in his eyes bowl her over. Render her incapable of doing anything but bathing in their purity. Lost in the depth of his eyes and the promises steeped in his scent.

She must have taken too long to answer because in a heartbeat his emotions shutter. He begins bobbing his head, standing up and disappearing from view. 

He materializes beside her with a snowboard, places it at her feet. “Okay,” he blows out a heavy breath, like he’s releasing all his resignation with it to be replaced by his instructor skin. “Do you know how to strap in?”

She can’t help feeling a sense of loss. Can’t help notice how the orange blossom’s wilted in her nose. 

Like a firefly, precious and bright, captured and caged. There’s the overwhelming impression she’s crushed something within him. Something wholesome and pure.

“Not really,” she lies. Hoping the little fib will gift them the opportunity to reset after her fumble.

“Okay.” He shifts to kneel at her feet, eyes fixed on her boots, hands rolling her ankle gently. “They’re a good fit,” he mumbles to himself before sliding the board between them. Placing her lead foot into the bindings with the same care one would handle a pup.

He sits back on his haunches, professional and reserved. The bright hopefulness dulled. “Can you stand up for me? Test the give?”

She obeys, works her ankle to and fro flexing. 

“It’s good.”

This is a disaster. Soliciting his help was supposed to be a reset. Was supposed to afford her the opportunity to say something, _anything,_ that would restore that heavenly scent. Instead it’s turned into an introductory lesson on board fitting at the top of the mountain.

One she’s witnessed and taught in the confines of her work space hundreds of times.

A clinical affair.

“Here,” he holds his hand out, “hold my hand and step into the rear binding.”

She obeys yet again. Mute. Her tongue leadened.

He straps her in, glances up at her questioningly. “Good? Mind feeling it out? Just shift your weight around, test the give so you have enough flexibility to maneuver.”

Again, her tongue refuses to form words. So she continues to obey shifting her weight from one foot to the other while tethered to his hand. The large, warm hand of the Alpha she has so many words for. Words that won’t come. That don’t materialize.

“Feel alright?”

God why can’t she speak? He’s hurting and yet he’s holding himself together. Wrapping himself in that instructor persona that dims the light she’d only caught fleeting glimpses of.

All she can do is nod. Swallow the thick knot of dread lodged in her throat.

“Good,” he hands her the goggles, “mind waiting for me to strap in? Or … you can go ahead if you want.” 

His disheartened shrug _breaks_ her. 

“I’ll wait.” It’s barely a whisper. Squeaked out around the knot in her throat. But it’s enough.

Enough to reignite something. A sliver. A tiny little fragment that tells her maybe it’ll be alright. That she might be blundering now but he’s not expecting much. That he’s taking it slow and doesn’t mind.

Right there, at the very top of the mountain, before the endless stretch of fresh snow bracketed by snow dusted trees, he smiles.

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


The morning flew by in a flurry.

He’d strapped himself in, scooted to sit beside her and asked if she’d prefer figure eights or back to back. 

She’d stared dumbly, so he’d given her the first real laugh. Sonorous and deep. Explained figure eights would be in tandem. That they’d zig and zag crossing in the middle while back to back he’d follow her. Or she’d follow him. Whatever she was comfortable with.

She’d opted for eights.

Their first trip down was exhilarating. Filled with the satisfying burn in her quads and the pillowy give of fresh powder. Punctuated by crossovers where she’d get a waft of his orange flower blossoming with each pass.

If she’d felt stilted and awkward at the top of the mountain, by the time they’d reached the bottom she’d felt free. Light as air and impossibly optimistic.

He’d grinned beatifically at her, asked if she wanted to go again. And when she’d returned his grin with a beaming smile of her own, she’d gotten a whiff of that fleeting orange blossom. Decided right then and there that it was, in fact, the scent of his happiness.

They’d laughed freely. Appreciated the beautiful eights they’d drawn down the slope, and raced back to the lift giggling like children.

Over and over they carved into the run. Hands reaching to skim the fluffy snow that no one but them had touched. Noses filled with crisp alpine air and the scent of each other’s contentment.

They’d reversed their pattern. She’d let him lead. He’d let her lead. Again and again their boards slid down the blue trail until it looked worn.

He’d impart wisdoms on their way back up. Not forcefully or presumptuously, but gently, matter of factly. 

_Dig your rear foot a little harder and your lead will follow. Like a rudder._

_One day I’ll take you on the black and you can get a better angle to snorkel. I think you’d really love that._

_That was amazing sweetheart. You’re a natural._

He was a vision. A magnificent display of control. All smooth lines and perfect technique. His fingers always trailing against the snowy ground, body kept low. The epitome of effortlessness.

It was hard for her to consolidate the exhibition of pure Alpha with the shy Ben Solo she’d sit beside on the lift. Where he’s all power and grace on the slope, he’d been tongue tied (much like herself) on the lift.

When their cheeks had pinkened and Snap had chastised them because they’d ruined the slope, they’d unstrapped their boards and carried them back to the main village. 

She’d wished she could have witnessed their boarding. Wished she could have had an outside perspective just for a split second. To see their bodies, black and white, yin and yang, traversing down the pristine trail.

They’d walked in companionable silence until they had to separate.

And out there, on the quiet cobblestoned streets, they’d smiled at each other knowingly.

A new understanding unfolding between their snow dusted bodies. It wasn’t communicated in words. Rather in the ancient language of scents. The blooming of an orange flower. The warming aroma of clove. The oozing of her own pheromones from her glands.

And then, he reached out his hand to thumb a stray hair out of her face. The softest smile etched on his face.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

“They’re so _loooong_ , how am I ever going to move in these?” The unruly teenaged Beta stares at his feet then back at Rey. His eyes pleading, confused.

Poe’s brought in his 10:00 AM horde for fittings and it’s going swimmingly.

“You just waddle,” she offers him a reassuring smile, the same faux smile she pastes on for everyone who walks through the doors, “have you ever skated?”

“Obviously.” The teen rolls his eyes.

Rey suppresses the need to snicker at this crabby teen. Sure, skis are awkward to waddle in, but she’s pretty sure most people forget the clumsiness once they’ve gotten their first taste of the slopes. At least she assumes. 

That’s how she feels about boarding, skiing would be the same, right?

“Well, skis are similar, only a little longer. Think of them as exaggerated blades. You just push off and angle.”

“She’s right,” Poe chimes in while helping another one of his students, “just like skating. You glide.”

The teen looks contrite. Scowls at his skis.

“Mom says I _have_ to take this lesson. Can we just pretend I did?”

Poe laughs. That boisterous loud laugh of his. “I’ll have to let her know you’re wasting her money. But seriously, there’s nothing to it. You just dig into the inner edge and push, glide on the other foot. Wanna go outside and practice?”

The other 4 students heads perk up. Some smiling. All absolutely terrified. Must be a _very_ green lesson. Probably won't step foot on a bunny hill for a few days.

“Yeah fine,” Poe relents, “I guess we can all go practice mobility on skis.”

He turns to her then, whispers, “this was supposed to be a fitting and basics session.”

The doorbell chimes just as Poe places his hands on his cocked hip, ready to continue with the fittings. With it comes a gust of cold wind and the scent of the most perfect morning.

She doesn’t mean to freeze like a deer in headlights. Doesn’t mean for her head to snap towards the scent of something fragile and pure and new. But it does. Alongside everyone else’s.

“Solo!” Poe booms, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I just, uh,” his hand lazily waves toward Rey, “came by for a visit.”

“Aah, say no more. Everyone, give Solo here a welcome. He’s this year’s show pony.” His students stare at the massive Alpha, offer him a discordant chorus of hellos.

Ben gives Poe’s students a shy smile. A humbled wave. Small gestures from an all black clad figure with a loose instructor vest slung around his neck. Then trods over to the counter to deposit his beanie and goggles.

Rey pulls herself away from the teen and circles around the back, resting her elbows lightly on the laminated pricing sheet that’s starting to curl at the edges.

  
She takes a steadying breath, swallows lungfuls of his warmth and comfort. Cool as a cucumber she tries to speak. “What’s up?”

Did this morning soften her edge? Yes.

Did it instill a level of hopefulness she’s nurturing? Yes.

That doesn’t mean she’s less awkward around the Alpha who, according to science, is made for her.

“I had a shit lesson,” he mumbles, worrying his cracked lip between his teeth, “I just dropped by to, umm, y-you soothe me.” His admission is whispered while his gaze drops to the pricing sheet abashed.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she realizes this is a chance to offer him something in return for this morning. Nothing as grand as a morning spent on the slopes with a pro, swathed in brand new gear. But _something_ nonetheless.

She reaches her hand out and wraps it around his forearm. Firm beneath the black jacket. “Wanna tell me about it?”

And there’s that hopeful glimmer again. His head shoots up and he’s wearing that wholesome smile. Not the knowing dark one, but one that’s infinitely sweeter. One that doesn’t promise bone melting pleasure clamped around his knot but the purity of snuggles on a cold winter day by a fire. 

Rey’s never known Alphas to be this shy. Not this easily dumbstruck or lacking for words. Had rarely seen one stutter. Never seen one who wasn’t an electric presence in the room, whether claiming it by sheer force or unabashed Alpha posturing.  
  
Yet here he is, in all his quiet glory. Wrecking everything she’d ever known about the designation.

“Y-yeah. Had these Alpha twins. They wanted to learn tips for the pipe, how to do an indie grab so they could look cool on their school trip,” he seems to visibly relax with every syllable he utters, starts mindlessly toying with the sleeve of her sweater in return, “cocky little shits. Kept acting like they knew everything then ended up on their asses for most of the lesson.”

“Sounds like run-of-the-mill Alpha bullshit.” She muses with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” Ben chuckles nervously, “Alpha bullshit for sure.”

Their eyes lock and for a fraction of a second the world around her seems to melt. Goes fuzzy around the edges. Because right there, in his amber eyes she could get lost for an eternity.

“Alright everyone, let’s get these skis off and head out to practice. You guys remember how to unclip?” Poe’s voice, distantly, talks to the students. The sounds of clips unlatching ricochets through the space but dims before it gets to her ears.

“Thank you, for this morning by the way. That was…”

“Nice,” he finishes for her, crooked smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and crinkling his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know about nice,” she titters nervously, “that word is too vanilla.” Rey leans in a little more, letting the warmth of his fire blanket her. “I’d say it was phenomenal.”

“That good, huh?” His nervous edge seems to whittle away completely, replaced by a calm sort of presence and the dripping of orange flowers. “Well, we’ll just have to do that again. If — if you want to, of course.”

“I’d like that,” she gives him a smile. 

“Heya Johnson?” Poe interrupts, “Can you grab the clipboard? We’re signing these out for the hour.”

Reality seeps back slowly. The world losing its fuzzy edge to dump her right back into the rubbery scented rental hut where Poe’s standing questioningly amid his mixed bag of students. All nervous smiles and skis in hand ready to head out.

Rey gives Poe a nod, grabs the clipboard and begins filling out a signout sheet for him. 

  
She takes down the equipment number and size of a young Omega. Drawing a slash through the price box since she’s well aware this is included in Poe’s lesson packs. Moves on to the Beta teen she’d helped, then a teenaged Alpha girl. 

While she’s scribbling in the number, something acrid tingles her nose. 

Her head snaps to see a petrified Ben Solo being accosted by the young Omega she’d checked out. The young woman is batting her lashes and laughing lasciviously, hand touching _her_ Alpha’s pectorals. 

And Ben? He looks downright panicked. The scent of him alone could clear the radius if suppressants weren’t a thing.

“I knew I recognized you,” the woman simps, one hand fiddling with a lock of hair.

Rey growls under her breath. Low enough to not be heard by anyone who wasn’t paying attention. 

Poe is, though.

“Shit,” Poe apparently also doesn’t miss a beat. He’s jumping straight into the fray, “hey Solo! I need my poles out of the back. Mind taking Johnson and fishing them out for me?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Herds Ben towards the back room and gives Rey a beckoning tilt of the head. “You know, my _poles_? The ones I always forget back there?” 

Frozen and confused, she glances between Poe with the shaking Alpha he’s just shoved through the door and the half filled signout sheet. 

“I’ll finish that up I just … uh, I really need those poles for the lesson. Umm, to demonstrate how they work,” Poe’s voice has taken a commanding edge. One she’s grown disused to in the months since her ex.

She’s not a fan. Would tell him so if she wasn’t being summoned by the heartwrenching scent of distress.

So rather than argue, she follows. Pushes the clipboard at Poe then plods into the storage room, shutting the door behind her.

Ben’s hunched against a desk. Back bowed and hands gripping the edge bruisingly. He’s breathing heavy, like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. His complexion is washed out, pallid. His scent acrid like burnt clove oil diluted in bleach.

What is he so panicked about?

Why does he smell of desperation?

Her Omega whines. Urges her to soothe Alpha. To scent him. To offer her body.

Her rational mind revolts. A public display would get her fired just as she’s starting to gain her own footing. She’s seen unsuppressed couples fornicate publicly. Only to be whisked away by uniformed officers and sent to a heat house. She’d like to participate in none of that, thank you very much.

So Rey meets her halfway. 

Carefully she toes over to Ben. Lays her hand on his shoulder and gives him a good squeeze.

“Hey,” she coos carefully, mindful of the explosive nature an Alpha always carries, “are you alright? What happened?”

“I swear, Rey,” he’s trembling, voice shaking like the wind churned arms of the evergreens in the grove, “I didn’t … it’s not what it looked like. She just showed up and I … I panicked. I swear I didn’t want it. I didn’t mean to…”

And that’s how it hits. Understanding. Startles her like a stun grenade.

Where her emotions _before_ always had a natural ebb and flow, now they jerk from one extreme to another in his presence. For the second time since she’s met this enigma of an Alpha, he’s bowled her over like an avalanche.

Oh, this mountain of an Alpha. 

He’s worried about his interaction with the young Omega and how she would perceive it. He’s afraid of the slightest move shattering their budding understanding.

And there her defences collapse. Just like that. 

She’d thought it would take time to warm up to this Alpha. That she could take a few days to consider his proposal for courtship. Instead, she finds herself convinced that she’d let him, even if a verbal agreement hadn’t been made. Because she’s never felt herself so willing to open.

It didn’t take a grand gesture of courtship. No lavish gifts or proclamations. No promises of a thorough knotting or a house in the mountains with ample room for pups. 

Nope. All it took was an Alpha whose walls had crumbled to _look_ at her the way he did. Without reservation. Only the longing etched so deep in his soul he’s afraid interacting with _any_ woman would fracture their fragile bond.

“Oh, Ben,” her voice falters, body moving to stand between his legs on autopilot, “it’s alright. I know.”

She doesn’t have many words. But despite her lack of language, she has more than enough articulation in her body.

Rey brings her wrists to either side of his head. Cradles her fingers into his thick, silky hair and massages her scent glands to his. Works the pads of her fingers against his scalp to deliver a potent dose of soothing energy.

The fire crackles, clove oil replenished. A calm as palpable as laying in fresh fluffy snow envelops them. One you get to watch from the safety of your home with a warm fire nestled in blankets.

So she pulls in closer. Rests her chin on his head and closes her eyes. Feels his hands wrap loosely around her waist. Pull tighter like a binding, locking her in.

It’s not too tight. Not too loose. Just enough to make her feel steady. To make her feel like she can take on the trail and chase the rush on stable feet.

His head drops forward to rest on her sternum. Warm skin pressed against her uniform sherpa. Fully relaxed with his whole body resting against hers.

And yet, despite the large Alpha draped over her, she’s never felt more powerful.

Omegas, despite education and equality laws, are still seen as broodmares in much of backwater country. Like Jakku. 

They’re seen as property. Things to be bitten and owned. Used for their pleasant scents and giving cunts.

Rey’s fought against that inequality her whole life. 

Starved herself in favour of purchasing the best suppressants her money could buy. Used scent masking salves and wore turtlenecks in the heat of summer all in an effort to hide her designation. To avoid becoming powerless and losing her dignity.

Here, in the poorly lit, dingy back room of the Hoth’s rental shop, she feels all the power of the Omega designation flow through her veins. Light and pure and unfiltered.

The power to soothe. The power to nurture and give. Not helpless but strong and flexible. Like the boughs of an ancient tree.

“We agreed to start over,” she murmurs while slipping her hands around his neck, “and that’s what we’re doing.”

She takes a deep breath, nose pressed into his hair. From this close, she can scent the orange flower blooming as if she were standing in the middle of an orange grove. So it takes nothing for her to smile against his scalp. Nothing to let her own glands warm from the completeness being wrapped up in him brings.

He nods against her chest. Nose pressed tight against her sweater, chest stuttering against her belly.

“Better?”

Ben nods again. This time she feels his body pull back. Not enough to let her go, but enough to tilt his head up and look at her from his hunched position. 

The amber in his eyes practically glows. “Can I scent you back?”

And so she beams.

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


Rey’s not really sure how long they’d stayed in that back room. Only that Poe’s soft knocking had drawn them back like gravity. 

They’d sat there quietly for what feels like a century, looked and touched.

Contact that would pass as unremarkable to any witness, but to them it held the weight of mountains.

Gentle fingers soothing hair from a cheek, the tracing of a jaw, the cradling of one. The spreading of fingers to lay claim, the ghosting of a palm over the natural slope of a curve. The soft press of their finger pads to scent glands on their wrists, their necks.

When they’d separated Ben had been exceptionally better off. And, if she were being honest with herself, she was too.

She hadn’t noticed it before that moment, but throughout the day — as last night’s scenting wore off and his shirt had started taking on the homely scent of her — she’d begun to grow restless. 

Like her ex if he didn’t get his cigarette fix in time. 

A tiny, feral little thing of a gremlin latching onto her conscience and scratching insistently. Like a splinter.

So she’d managed to get on with her day replenished. With the honeyed scent of orange flower and the warmth of fire in her nose. 

He’d sat with her at lunch while half the staff ogled the former Olympian they’d previously only caught fleeting glimpses of. Exchanged private smiles and stolen touches over turkey club sandwiches and bowls of butternut squash soup courtesy of a very self-satisfied Finn.

He’d walked her back to the rental shop and hugged her awkwardly. Like he wasn’t sure it was kosher. But she’d hugged him back and that made the orange blossom all the sweeter. 

Alphas never smelled sweet. Their scent usually conveyed power and masculinity. Notes of smoke and leather, tobacco and worn paper. Yet here is an Alpha who does. Who’s very essence communicates warmth and comfort.

He’d promised he’d come grab her after her shift and when she’d rebutted that it was karaoke night at the staff lounge, he’d simply smiled and said ‘I know’. Promised he’d go with her, if she didn’t mind, of course. 

Then, just as he’d started walking away and she’d turned to enter the rental shop, he’d called her name. Dashed back to her side, placed a chaste kiss on her cheek and bounced off practically skipping.

Him.

Ben Solo.

Massive Alpha decked in black, the brooding shadow that snaked between the crowds of the Hoth, skipping like a schoolgirl.

And he’d made good on the promise.

Just before she’d turned the closing sign, she caught a glimpse of her Alpha leaning against the outdoor rack. And if that weren’t sweet enough, he was holding two beavertails. 

They’d walked back to the staff lounge in stride. Enjoying the cinnamony goodness while he asked questions about her day.

When she shivered, he’d shrugged off his jacket without missing a beat.

When she’d finished her treat, he’d dusted the crumbs off her lips.

When they’d walked into the staff lounge, music blaring, he’d held the door open.

Rey’s not really sure what courting entails anymore. She _thought_ she knew. 

But now that she’s on the receiving end of a very determined Alpha, she’s had her world turned inside out. 

Apparently, courting isn’t the gifting of soft gifts and flowers. It isn’t whispering filthy things into your ear or growling at competing Alphas.

No. Ben _thinks._

He’d given her the shared gift of the slope. The gift of his presence and undivided attention. The gift of food and sustenance. The gift of space so as not to suffocate her. All swathed in the scent of serenity.

“You gonna finish that? Or are you going to stare it into your belly?” Finn nudges her with his shoulder.

Shit. She’s spaced out thinking about today’s turn of events.

Again.

“Yeah,” she chuckles sheepishly, “just have a lot on my mind.”

She takes a swig from her beer bottle and looks around. Poe’s on stage, drunkenly singing ‘Taking Care of Business’ off key. Belting is the more appropriate word, actually. A performance sung not only off key, but off beat. Like he’s Axl Rose minus the drugs and ability to carry a melody.

Ben’s in a corner talking to Rose. His head’s bowed and he looks deeply immersed in whatever Rose is pelting at him. And she’s talking _quite_ animatedly which gives Rey the impression he’s being talked _at_ not to.

“So … Poe said we could stop looking.” Finn’s eyes have shifted back to the stage. A goofy, crooked grin pasted on his face. “Know anything about that?”

Rey snorts. Rolls her eyes because, _of course,_ Poe would have figured it all out. _Of course_ all that Alpha conviction would mean he’s already decided on Ben as her heat partner.

Even if the final decision is hers alone, she’s not sure she minds.

“Not particularly,” she lies.

“Peanut,” Finn sighs, “you know you can’t lie to me right? I might not have your nose but I’ve got eyes. So … Solo, huh?”

“And in a shocking turn of events, I regret enlisting your help.”

“Really?” Finn snickers while feigning shock, bumps the bottom of her beer bottle to nudge her into finishing it. “Because from where I’m standing we managed to find you help _and_ find you someone who you can’t stop ogling. Rose is vetting him right now, you know?”

“You sure she’s vetting?” Rey maneuvers away from introspection about as smoothly as cruddy snow. Drains her bottle to give Finn something else to latch onto. “From where I’m standing, she looks like she’s lecturing him.”

Her friend snickers again. Grabs her empty and trots off to grab refills, leaving her alone to watch Ben’s face contorted in thought while Rose is _definitely_ grilling him.

He says something to her which earns him a shocked gasp and a face palm. Looks down at his feet while Rose’s surprise seems to settle.

“You know what it means when an Alpha willingly lets themselves be humbled?” Finn’s hand appears at her side. Fresh bottle dripping with condensation.

“That they fucked up beyond repair?”

“No,” Finn laughs, “I mean, that too.” He takes a swig of his fresh beer. 

“What I mean is, when an Alpha is willing to take _that_ level of heat from a Beta half his size,” Finn points covertly, “it’s a sign he’s found something worth more than that stupid Alpha pride.”

Rey snorts again. 

_Nothing_ is worth more than an Alpha’s pride and the preservation of said precious resource. 

“You don’t believe me,” Finn grouches with a cocked brow.

“Nope.”

“Watch this,” Finn smirks. He starts waving down Poe who immediately locks onto him. Like he’s always got one eye on his better half. A bright smile blooming on his face.

“Hey babe?” Finn yells over their coworkers, “do another one. Do ‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Dion.”

“No,” Rey gasps beside him. “There’s _no_ way.”

“Sorry Snap,” Poe slurs into the mic, “the Sweetness has spoken. Mind queueing that for me? Finn get your butt over here. If I’ma sing that fuckin’ sap I need someone to serenade. Make way guys, cutie with a booty coming through.”

Finn throws her a wink, “told you. An Alpha doesn’t easily drop his walls, but when he does…”

Rey’s left to mull things over while Poe’s voice starts cawing again. Off key, as before, but now at least he’s _trying_ to sing. An actual attempt at serenading Finn.

She watches, flabbergasted, as the surly Alpha on stage makes a right fool of himself. Reaches his hand out towards Finn and theatrically swoons beside the karaoke machine.

If you’d have asked her a week ago if this was normal behaviour for an Alpha, she would have laughed. Would have told you the characterisation of an Alpha lay in their ability to exude confidence and dominate. That their waking moments revolved around the simple goal of winning _every_ pissing contest they can enter.

They make great leaders. Great athletes. Great cops and make up the core of the army’s reserve. Flexing muscle for the sheer fun of doing so. Of bolstering their fragile Alpha egos.

Now?

She’s not so sure.

Poe is in the middle of the first chorus when she scents him. The soothing warmth of a fire on a cold day. The comfort of clove oil, the sweetness of orange flour and the mouth watering cream of masculine vanilla.

A big hand lands gingerly on her hip bone. Slides forward to span her belly. Fingers splayed.

It’s careful. Hesitant, but underneath the reluctance of the touch is a hint of determination.

And she doesn't need to be told who’s hand it is. Doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s _him._

So she threads her fingers through his across her belly. Leans back into his broad chest. Lets him envelop her with his scent and presence.

“Hi.” His voice is soft. Silky. Makes her breath catch in light of Finn’s revelation.

“Hi,” she breathes back, eyes fixed on the karaoke machine but seeing nothing.

He’s the warmth at her back. The warmth surrounding her. The kind of warmth that seeps into your bones and folds itself into your very being.

His cheek presses against her temple. Hot and a little scratchy. Like a compress to soothe a headache. 

Holding her there. A bubble of his scent muting the noise in the staff lounge and Poe’s broken crescendos.

“I have to go see Holdo,” he murmurs. “Will you wait here for me?” His raspy voice pleads.

“I can come with you.” She’s not ready to leave this bubble. Not ready to lose her blanket.

“Nah,” he rasps, “you stay here with your friends. I’ll be quick.”

Maybe she holds him tighter. Maybe her fingers give a squeeze. Maybe she closes her eyes to commit this tranquility to memory for when he leaves.

“I’ll be back, okay?” He presses a kiss to her temple, “if you’re going up there, wait until I’m back. Don’t wanna miss it.”

“Are you insinuating you’d like me to reserve Aerosmith?” She tries for humour, or, at the very least something to keep him around longer.

“For you?” His chuckle rumbles at her back. “If-if you want me to, I’ll do it.”

And there it is again, confirmation Finn was right. 

Ben, in all his Alpha glory, wouldn’t be able to hit Steven Tyler’s notes on his best days. But the surprisingly sweet brute would try if she wants him to. 

She can’t help but burst out laughing. “I’ll see what I can do. Now hurry back.”

If she turns in the cradle of his arms, lifts herself to her toes and kisses his cheek, that’s no one’s business but her own.

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


He was gone for only an hour.

Returned just in time to witness Kay and Snap butcher ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’. Just in time to make off into a corner and heckle the singers while decidedly _not_ taking their turn on the mic.

He’d shared his life story in snippets between drinks. 

About his Omega father who’s only mission in life is to ‘break the wheel’ as he’d become fond of saying since watching Game of Thrones. Of his Alpha mother whom he hadn’t spoken to in years due to a fallout between her and his old coach.

About how he’d been hesitant to talk to Omegas since his ex did a number on him. How he’s been looked at as a meal ticket and a catapult into the spotlight. He’d joked, then, that she’s more than free to start playing the world’s smallest violin.

Told her how he’s planning on maybe working his way into coaching and stepping away from the craziness.

So in turn, she’d shared snippets of herself. It was only natural.

Something about the soothing scent of _her_ Alpha that loosened her tongue and wet her lips. 

If their budding truce had a rocky start, alcohol seemed to soften the edges of their awkwardness. Helped them find a delicate balance and slip comfortably into a natural banter.

Shared about her hillbilly of an ex and her foster father’s junk yard. About how she’d found peace between the piles of scrap metal while joking that she’d had more tetanus boosters than she’d had heats.

His eyes had darkened and his grip on her thigh cinched, but that was her mistake for bringing up her heat.

So they’d spent the evening sharing eye opening glimpses into each other’s lives. Drinking watery beer and eating whatever the kitchen served family style for dinner.

When it came time to call it a night, they walked back together. 

He’d asked if she’d like to hit the trails again in the morning to which she’d happily replied in the affirmative.

He’d kissed her cheek again by his cabin and bid her goodnight. Left a plume of orange blossom in his wake as he retreated into the confines of his cabin and left her in the crisp cold mountain air with a permanent grin etched on her face.

But of course, a courting Alpha has multiple tricks up his sleeve.

So when she’d climbed the steps to her cabin, there on her stoop sat another box. Smaller than that from the morning.

When she pried it open under moonlight, she found a plush cream robe and chunky knit slipper socks. All scented like the warmth of a fire and the happiness she’d find in an orange grove.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Ben’s always been an early riser.

Well, not really. It’s become a habit. Formed early on when his training evolved from casual to intensive. 

One day he was just a kid with a piece of shit snowboard swiped from the rental hut pulling tricks on the slopes and chasing his own bests. The next he’d been spotted by a talent scout who’d invited him to a local competition because he ‘showed great potential’. Which, in turn, opened the door to meeting his controlling coach and a whirlwind career on the slopes.

His brain is now hardwired to switch on at the first signs of daylight. Years of the hazy blues of dawn trekking it to the gym or the lift. Of only using his eyes to read the predicted weather because he’d have exactly 10 minutes to get his shit together and finding the local weather channel in whatever city he woke up in took too long.

He’d quickly learned to read the clouds, how the day would shape up based on the quality of daylight seeping in. Quickly learned to use his nose to scent the ozone saturation. It was his best predictor of how his training day would go.

_ This _ morning is shaping up to be beautiful. He can see tufts of clouds indicating a sunny day. The trees aren’t stirring, indicating a lack of wind. 

It’s perfect for a morning on the mountain. It’s also perfect for showing her something else. 

She seems happiest outdoors. An observation gleaned by how easily she unravelled for him their first run down the blue. 

He’d expected her to be more standoffish. Hell, he deserves it. But after their first descent carving argyle patterns into the fresh snow, she’d bloomed like a flower before his very eyes. Spoke to him with ease.

And he’d really enjoyed talking to her. Not the stilted conversations he’d grown used to at public appearances with his ex, but something more natural. Something that flowed as easily and freely as a mountain spring.

Maybe it was the beer last night, but he’d also never felt more inclined to share.

And she’d  _ listened _ . Rather than hang off his arm like the slope bunnies he’d come to ignore, she’d looked into his eyes and asked questions. Touched not lasciviously but encouragingly.

She’s certainly not the type of career gusher he’d grown used to, either. She asked deep questions. Not about fame or medals and sponsorships but about his life. About what makes him happy, about how he  _ feels. _

It felt like talking to a friend, not a date. The latter he’s had plenty of. But the former? 

The longer he’s been at the Hoth, the more he realizes it’s the former he’s always lacked. Friends. Real friends. People like Poe Dameron who swoop in to save you when you’re overwhelmed. People like Rey Johnson who will forgive because she sees him for more than his misguided actions.

She asked about his father’s autonomy as a male Omega. About how his relationship with his mother is healing. Appeared truly upset when he’d glossed over his coach’s cruel training techniques. Supported his wish to step out of the limelight.

She didn’t ask why he and his ex never mated. Only commented on the fact that he deserves to be happy. That everyone deserves to chase their own version of happiness, as grand or reclusive as they’d like it to be.

And when he’d tried to make light of the situation, she’d smiled and  _ actually _ rubbed her fingers together to play the world’s smallest violin with a bashful chuckle. Radiant freckles and all.

Laughing with her is the easiest thing in the world. More natural than carving his board into the mountain side.

And if that weren’t enough, she’d shared in return. Something he hadn’t expected from her.

He hadn’t known her that long. Barely managed to resuscitate whatever budding relationship they had, but from what he  _ did _ know, she’d been skittish.

Well, now he knows why.

An Omega growing up in backwater country would have limited prospects. Add to that the backwards thinking in those regions — the rampant mistrust of suppressants, the clinging to outdated (and often illegal) practices, the vulgar insistence on using Omegas as broodmares and treating them as property — he can see why she’s both skittish and reserved.

Can see, even, how she would have missed the essentials on designations. Why she would’ve fought tooth and nail to ignore the very obvious pull between them and assume he’d just been another unsuppressed Alpha.

She’d told him about her redneck of an ex. About her foster father who’d kept her more for government relief than out of the goodness of his heart. About how she’d had more tetanus boosters than heats.

His grip on her thigh tightened but he’d controlled his rage. 

It made him irrationally  _ angry _ that she’d had to fight so hard. That she’d been taken advantage of by a piece of shit pretend parent and a degenerate ex. That she wasn’t surrounded by soft, beautiful things like she deserved.

The mention of her heat didn’t help, either.

She’s special. And scents aside, he finds himself craving those easy interactions. He wants more of them. More of her. 

What are the chances that he not only find  _ the one _ , but she actually turns out to be a stellar human being?

God how did he get so lucky?

So in light of this fortuitous condition, he’d like to take her somewhere else. Somewhere they can keep talking because he quite likes the sound of her voice. Especially when she takes those soft tones with him. 

Then maybe the slopes, if they’ve still got time.

He’s pretty sure he’s working his way into her good books. But despite her declarations they’re starting over, he’s not 100% sure he’s forgiven himself. She may have unrolled the red carpet for him, but he’d be an idiot to think their rocky past is behind them.

To heal takes more than words. 

So he wants to shower her with things. Take her places that are special. Show her that that  _ wasn’t _ him. And maybe, in the process of wooing her he’ll find it in him to forgive himself.

For being an idiot and not just talking to her. For taking such a juvenile approach to quelling his baser needs.

He sits up in bed, fully rested for the first time in a week. Her chlorine soaked towel’s been his version of Linus’ security blanket since he’d found the gift. Last night, he’d slept with it. Buried his nose and ignored the sharp sting of chlorine only to focus on the creaminess of  _ her. _

When he’d found it that morning, he  _ might _ have rubbed his face into it until it warmed. Until his body heat thawed the frozen towel left on his porch and released a potent plume of pistachios and almond cream. He’d also licked it. He’s not ashamed of admitting this. 

Now it lays limply beside his pillow. So he grabs it and brings it to his nose. Runs it over his upper lip in a soothing motion.

It’s funny. Since they’d talked, their truce has pacified his impending rut. The same one that her scent elicited from afar, is now mollified by direct contact. 

For the first time since he’d caught whiff of her, he doesn’t feel like a feral animal consumed by the need to jerk off and fuck. He’s grown beyond his insatiable Alpha shell and now wants to be the very best version of himself for her.

It’s nice.

_ She’s _ nice. Though nice doesn’t quite encompass what she is. It’s a rudimentary descriptor of her. Two dimensional and flat in comparison to the four dimensions she embodies (if not more).

She deserves nice things.

Certainly deserves more than him. But he’ll carve himself into her heart. Inch by inch he’ll make it work. He’ll reclaim what he’d so callously thrown away in favour of ease. He’ll earn her trust and her heart and her heat. He’ll earn the privilege of being her Alpha, and, if all goes well, even her mate.

With renewed resolve, he gets out of bed and unplugs his phone. Calls the kitchen to politely inquire what’s on menu for staff breakfast.

When he’s informed it’ll be the standard egg scramble, bacon, oatmeal, and today’s special feature pear and ricotta cheese tarts, he asks if they wouldn’t mind packing a tart for him as well as a thermos of hot chocolate and one of coffee. The shift manager was courteous enough to let him know the tarts were on the smaller side, so he’d suggested one tart per person.

And that’s how the order was adjusted to two. 

He’d been promised his breakfast would be ready for pickup in 15 minutes, so he’d gotten washed up and dressed with a warm sort of hope blooming in his chest. 

He might’ve been an irredeemable idiot, acted like a complete dick, but he’s being given a chance to rectify his mistakes. One he intends to put everything he has into.

So that’s how Ben jogs to the kitchen on light feet, his backpack stuffed with a thick blanket and his used sleeping t-shirt. Makes small talk with a hungover Finn who hands him his package then walks back double time in the crisp morning air. Armed and ready to put in the work.

By the time he’s steeling his nerves, taking a deep breath and preparing his tingling fingers to knock on her door, the honeyed glow of sunrise breaks the horizon.

  
  


𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

  
  


Snow crunches beneath their boots. Occasionally a tree rustles to relieve its snow ladened branches with a muffled thump.

Everytime he looks back, he sees her eyes gleaming. Fixed up above, awed by the winter canopy and the tranquility of the grove, but tethered to his hand. Always.

The purity of her reaction tugs at his heart. So in turn, he squeezes his fingers around hers a little tighter. Tells her it’s only a little further ahead.

It turns out she doesn’t like surprises. 

Something he hadn’t considered until the very moment her face screwed in consternation.

It makes sense,  _ now _ . How could he have been so callous? How had he failed to consider her past?

An Omega from Jakku would be skeptical of surprises from any Alpha. Of course she would. It’s only natural.

Where Ben’s grown up thinking surprises were a good thing — a new jacket, the keys to his father’s Falcon, weekend trips to the beach — to  _ her _ surprises are an unknown and potentially dangerous entity — dark alleys, laced drinks, chances to be taken against her will. 

He’d told her they’re going for a hike, so that seemed to soothe her nerves. Then he’d amended that it was only 10 minutes or so from their cabins. And that had won her over completely.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she utters reverently.

Her eyes are still glassy, half asleep. The apples of her cheeks peeking from beneath her scarf, a delicious shade of pink from the cold.

“Wait till you see what’s up ahead.” He can’t help grinning to himself. It bowled him over when he’d found it. Now, he can’t wait to see it again, even if the circumstances have changed.

She yawns. “You have  _ got _ to stop being so vague. I  _ told _ you I don’t like surprises.”

“I’m sorry,” he squeezes her fingers, threads through a thicket of leafless bushes and young hibernating trees. Barren branches jutting out and posing scraping hazards to their cold numbed skin. “I promise it’s worth it.”

“You know this moment right here is going to lay the foundation for how I perceive your interpretation of the word ‘surprise’?” She yawns again but follows along willingly, the scent of roasted pistachios and frozen almond cream fills his lungs. “So what’d you talk to Holdo about last night anyway? I forgot to ask.”

“I don’t blame you.” He chuckles lowly, steps over a felled tree. “It’s hard to keep a conversation going when you’ve got a bunch of grown men reenacting the Spice Girls.”

“Pretty sure that was Atomic Kitten,” there’s argument in her voice, but it’s not a challenge. Merely fact.

“Probably. I’m no expert,” he concedes, smiling inwardly, “but you get the gist.”

“I do,” she joins in lazy laughter, “so? Holdo?”

“Oh…”

He deliberates just  _ how _ he’ll tell her. And settles for skirting the  _ whole _ truth. For now.

Settles instead on the fringe topic he and Holdo discussed in passing. Of not telling her  _ just yet. _

“Lessons. I … uh, you remember those Alpha twins? Those two little shits I told you about yesterday? Well… when I agreed to instruct here, it was with a few conditions. They’ve consistently not been met.”

He doesn’t tell her he’d already put in rut leave coinciding with her heat leave. He also doesn’t tell her that he’d weasled  _ that _ little bit of information out of Rose who’d accosted him last night.

Rose, who was surprisingly spunky for a Beta. She’d been all piercing eyes and no bullshit. Grilled him about his intentions with Rey. Practically threatened him even if he’s twice her size and double her weight. And he’d just stood mute as a mouse and took it with a patience he hadn’t been sure he owned. 

Him. Alpha athlete and Olympic sweetheart (the tabloids words, not his). 

Poe had to rescue him, again. If it weren’t for his  _ maybe _ friend and fellow Alpha, he would have stood and listened to Rose’s monologue about Rey’s worth until the graveyard shift changed and the night crew flooded in for their share of the fun. And maybe even after, too.

Poe’s drunken proclamation of crooning Celine Dion had drawn Rose’s (and everyone else’s) eyes back to the makeshift stage.

Gave him just enough leash to slip away after that horrifying but necessary admission.

Ben hadn’t  _ planned _ on telling Rose about their rocky start. But she’d been so fiercely protective over Rey he figured it’d be best to fess up now than to let it linger. 

Of course his Alpha howled internally. Indignant and shame faced at the blow to his ego.

The consistent  _ blows _ to his ego.

But if he’s going to court his perfect mate, he’d like to do so tabula rasa. No more bullshit, no lies, nothing hidden. 

He cannot,  _ will not,  _ fuck this up.

But he doesn’t tell her any of these things. Simply lets his boots crunch in the snow in time with hers. Fingers twined and the warmth of her body seeping through their gloves.

“What conditions were those?” There’s a curious spike in her voice.

“I … umm,” shit he’s going to sound stuck up. With a sigh, he relents to telling the truth, “I told them I wouldn’t waste my time teaching beginners. Told them I’d take private lessons and only with guests who are looking to up the ante. You know, learn tips and tricks and better their performance. The twins they … that was really just the cherry. Since I’ve started there have been a lot of well paying beginners and…”

“That’s a waste of your talent,” he can feel her head bobbing beneath her hood. “Makes sense. Do you think they’ll keep signing you up now that you’ve had the talk?”

Ben shrugs. He  _ hopes _ so. Then again, most of the conversation hadn’t been about the lessons. That was a topic broached in passing, as in … as he passed through the door. “I hope so.”

He slinks between trees quietly, his perfect Omega in tow. Down the path he’d worn into existence only a few nights ago. A fortuitous find when he’d been down in the dumps. Heartbroken and wounded.

_ Then _ , it was the perfect metaphor for his loneliness. For his barren soul. A little gem of a lake in the middle of nowhere. Quiet and cold and empty like his soul.

Deep sapphire water, mirrored and placid. Hidden among the snow dusted firs and protected by the mountain. An oasis that first watched his heart break.

_ Now,  _ it will witness his heart mend.

They clear the treeline, walking out onto an open, snow-dusted shore. The little lake sprawling before his eyes. 

So he steps aside to let her see. Chest swelling with pride.

“Here we are,” he raises their fingers softly, points towards the lake.

In the early morning light, the sapphire blues of the lake seem darkened. A teal tinged black with the mottled tufts of creamy orange clouds reflected off its tranquil waters.

“Wow,” her breath fogs but her eyes are wide, “this is … wow.”

Her head turns slowly. Like she’s drinking in the landscape. A 180 degree scan that culminates in quick glances between the lake and their foot path.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding. That  _ is _ close.”

Ben unstraps his backpack and lets it fall into the hard packed snow. Watches it crease into the softer powder trapped below the cracked upper crust. 

“How’d you find this? It’s not on any of the maps.” Her tone is reverent. He  _ likes _ that he’s found something that renders her practically speechless.

“It’s not,” he agrees, lets his eyes come to rest on hers. “I found it a few days ago. Was upset and needed to cool off.”

Rey gasps. Short and sweet and pink cheeked. “You  _ didn’t!” _

“No, Rey. I didn’t swim in it.” He reaches a hand up to brush a strand of hair out of her scarf, “I went for a long moonlit walk because I was an idiot … and stumbled upon this.”

Her eyes shift between his questioningly for a moment before understanding dawns.

That’s when she steps over the backpack and straight into his arms.

“Oh Ben,” her cheek presses into his jacket, “I’m sorry.”

He envelops her, pushing her hood back to nuzzle his nose into the top of her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes there is. What I did wasn’t right.”

“No,” he laughs in spite of the bolt of pain that rips through him at the memory. “It wasn’t. But I deserved it and, if I’m being honest, we found  _ this _ because of it.”

Her head pulls off his chest. 

He’d assumed she would want to look about again. Take in the frozen landscape and its icy serenity. Look at the warming sky or the mirrored lake or the snow dusted trees. 

Instead, she’s looking at him.

_ Him. _

The Alpha that  _ almost _ fucked it up with  _ the one. _

She’s looking at him like…

Oh.

_ Oh. _

He’d assumed she’d talk some more. That she’d want to pick up where they left off while he pulled out the thick blanket and set up a rudimentary winter picnic by the lake. 

Instead, she’s looking at him like she wants to kiss him.

And he’s not so sure he deserves it. This easy slip into a budding romance. He still feels the sharp sting of pain, the ghost of its memory still fresh, at thinking she was getting knotted by another Alpha. And that was only his imagination. He can’t imagine how it felt for her to see … 

God he’s a fucking tool.

His Alpha doesn’t care, though.

Biology overrides his uncertainty. Gone are the wavering emotions of an insecure Ben Solo. Replaced with the ancient need to respond to her. To answer the call.

Her eyes are bright, her lips parted. Her gaze sweeping between his eyes and lips. It’s silent. She’s nervous.

Then he lowers his head and closes his eyes and lets his lips taste the forbidden fruit he’s  _ definitely _ earning.

There’s nothing feral about the kiss. No burgeoning designations attempting to stake a claim.

It’s sweet and gentle. There’s no tongue. No baser urges. 

It’s warm lips and cold noses. Closed eyes and the blooming warmth that comes with the budding of a much deeper emotion.

Just the sweetness of frozen almond cream mingling with what smells like orange blossom.

Just the gentle press of lips. The soft caress of fingers. The crunching of snow as their feet shift and their bodies gravitate towards each other.

And just like that, warmth explodes in his chest.

He’ll tell her about his rut leave while he feeds her breakfast. While he pours out hot chocolate or coffee or maybe half and half. Whatever she wants. He’ll hold her and feed her and give her his used shirt and reassure her that even if he’d taken rut leave it doesn’t mean he’s claiming her heat. That it’s still  _ very much _ her choice if she takes him up.

But he hopes she will.

He’ll do everything. Anything. 

But right now,  _ right now, _ on the shores of the lake that's witnessed his heart break, that now witnesses it mend, all he does is kiss her.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI:
> 
> I did step away from this story because I got a rude comment that, frankly, made me want to delete the whole thing. But I didn't. So here we are back on a regular update schedule.
> 
> To the person who left that comment: it must be nice to be perfect and never make mistakes. I sincerely hope you never find yourself in need of forgiveness.


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